


Eyes of the Void

by Stormbutterfly



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Because the Outsider doesn't know how to person, Big Sister Billie Lurk, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, DOTO spoilers, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Hate for the Abbey, Human!Outsider, Light Angst, Low Chaos (Dishonored), Post-Canon, Post-DotO, Post-Low Chaos Ending, The Void as a Character, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-29 06:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13921332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormbutterfly/pseuds/Stormbutterfly
Summary: In the beginning there was nothing, and it woke up. The Void WAS long before the beginning, and it WOULD BE long after the end.The aftermath of the coup posed many challenges for Emily Kaldwin and her father, Corvo Attano, but less than a year later they have an even greater trial to face. With the Outsider at last freed from his long imprisonment, their world’s magic no longer has a guiding hand. Nothing remains that is capable of regulating the Void’s power as it pours into physical reality. And the Void—the Void isn’t one to let go of those things it claims as its own.





	1. A Brief History of Timelessness

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: The seeds of this story appeared in my mind shortly after Dishonored: Death of the Outsider (DOTO) was released. Once planted, they grew into vines and began spreading like kudzu, choking the life out of all competitors for my attention. I tried to ignore them and stay focused on the stories that I’m supposed to be writing, but my efforts were futile. This story wants to be told. Apparently, the Void has some things to say. It became clear that I won’t be able to focus on any other work until this beast is written. That said, due to real life obligations, this will be posted as time permits. Accordingly updates may be sporadic.   
>  This story is largely based on the canon story lines from Dishonored, Dishonored 2, and the associated DLCs, including Death of the Outsider. No reference is made to any of the associated novels or graphic novels. While canon is largely followed here, there will be some divergence. This story assumes that the protagonist of Dishonored was a low chaos Corvo Attano, that the protagonist from Dishonored 2 was a low chaos Emily Kaldwin, and that the non-lethal ending of DOTO was chosen. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any portion of the Dishonored® franchise. To the best of my knowledge and belief, Dishonored® is the intellectual property of ZeniMax® Media, Inc. This transformative work (fanfiction) is produced as a tribute in honor of the series and was made solely for the pleasure of creating and sharing said tribute. I receive no financial reward for its production. I own only the original storyline which I personally created, any original characters featured, and the exact order in which I wrote down the words of this story. Everything you recognize from Dishonored® and any references made to other published works are the property of their individual copyright holders. 
> 
> NOTE ON TERMS USED: This story presents the Void as both the endless realm glimpsed in dreams and visited by the player characters AND as the conscious entity that is the spirit of said place. Technically, the location IS the entity, i.e. the place is also a person. However, for the sake of clarity, the location is referred to as the void (no capitalization) or the abyss while the entity is referred to as the Void (capitalized because it’s a proper name). Further, as there is no canon name for the actual planet that Dishonored is set on, I have named it Toraz since I have to call it something.

 

**And lo! In the Month of Darkness**

**And lo! With his name destroyed**

**And lo! He still whispers in silence**

**And lo! He went into the void**

**~ _from_ “The Month of Darkness” (The Outsider’s Song) **

            In the beginning there was nothing, and it woke up. Amongst the most ancient of powers and the eldest of the gods there was much debate regarding the origins of things. Regardless, there was one fact upon which they all agreed: the Void came first. It **_was_** long before the beginning, and **_would be_** long after the end. Even in those barren places where mortals had turned their faces away from the divine, the Void yet remained. It required no belief to sustain it, no offerings to feed it power. No prayers were needed for it to intervene. The Void **_WAS_** and it did as it would for its own inexplicable reasons.

            The Void followed a number of ever-evolving rules when interacting with creation. Both gods and powers took comfort in this knowledge. Less fortunate was the fact that the Void itself had determined these rules by trial and error and followed them only of its own accord. They did not represent any true limitation. If any force existed capable of controlling the Void, the gods were unaware of it. None-the-less, the rules provided a framework by which they could predict its behavior, and that alone was a great blessing.

            When creation first formed, the Void, curious about this development, explored the limits of what physical reality could tolerate. It quickly realized that it shredded the fabric of reality and distorted the weave of time when it wasn’t mindful of these tolerances. Early on, mistakes had been made. Several worlds were lost due to its failed attempts to interact with their inhabitants. Understanding required experience and experience often came at a high cost. The Void never forgot a lesson learned. From its position outside of time, its experiments were spread out across multiple realities. A world destroyed in one timeline, thrived in another. The Void did its best to minimize the damage left behind. It was curious by nature, not cruel. Unfortunately, the limits were not altogether consistent. What one world could tolerate would tear another asunder. Thus the need to learn more continued unabated.

            It was best, the Void found, **_safest_** , to work through intermediaries, but few mortal souls could withstand the warping caused by its unfiltered touch. Its earliest attempts at creating avatars had twisted beyond recognition. They became mad, eldritch things which caused far more destruction than the Void would have on its own. It was forced to seal them away in the deepest recesses of itself. Most powers would have destroyed these abominations. The Void never considered such an option. Monstrous as they were, they belonged to it, and the Void loved each of them.

            Through trial and error, the Void learned to filter its perception, to distinguish between souls which could bear the stress of its regard, and those which could not. And so it waited, and it watched, and from time to time a soul would flare bright beneath its gaze. When it noticed them, it laid claim to those precious few—its lovely Chosen, the so-called Gods of the Void. 

            As time progressed some worlds developed a greater ability than others to capture the Void’s attention. The young world of Toraz was especially fascinating. It was a desolate place that few powers ever showed interest in. Toraz was neither a world of high magic, nor one of high technology, but rather a cycling land where magic and technology rose and fell in intervals. Science and mysticism spiraled around each other in an endless helix, an ever-shifting terrain of knowledge, belief, and superstition. Most gods would have floundered in the changing of those tides. Few powers could withstand such constant inconstancy. The Void found it delightful.    

            The first tribal civilizations on Toraz arose in the depths of its vast oceans. Several sentient aquatic races evolved which all paid homage to a non-existent god of the deep. They served what they saw as an endless, unknowable, alien power that communicated its strange desires through the faint sounds of distant whale song, the movements of ocean currents, and the fragmented visions beheld in dreams. Their faith was great and their beliefs complex, but consistent. They were as devout a congregation as any deity could have wished for. Their god, on the other hand, was entirely imaginary. No divinity stalked the depths. Nothing listened to their prayers or received their offerings. For all of their dedication, they worshiped nothing, and so the Void decided that they deserved to have **_Nothing_** answer them.

            It began subtly, trickling its energies into the deepest waters, sinking it into the barren bones of the primeval whale precursors that the denizens of the depths named leviathans. It took the faithful little time to discover these gifts, to learn to carve the singing bones into talismans of power. With proof of their god’s attention in hand, their faith only grew. The Void marveled. It required no worship and was unaccustomed to receiving any. The peoples of most worlds that were aware of the Void’s existence saw it and its avatars as things to be placated, not revered. The Void watched closely, looking for a spark, a shining soul to craft into its voice on Toraz.

            That spark came in the soul of one of the mighty Whale Kings, the enormous sentinels of Toraz’s oceans. The creature wasn’t sentient exactly, not in the same way that the civilization builders were, but his thoughts were far beyond those of a clever animal. His soul burned bright, but it was drenched in loneliness and sorrow. From the time of his birth, his presence had made his brethren uneasy. He was too large, too fearsome—his massive head ridged with heavy spiked plates and strange, tentacle-like growths coiled out from his sides. _A throwback,_ the Void realized. _A genetic return to the primordial ancestors of his species. Not precisely a whale then—a new leviathan._

            The Void made its choice. It reached through, bored cracks into the physical plane and laid claim to its prize. The Great Leviathan was pulled from the world of his birth and into the expanse of the abyss, only devastation left in his wake. The size of the Chosen was directly proportionate to the amount of power required to retrieve them. The Leviathan was too large to be lured into the vicinity of one of the Void’s many shrines or other sacred spaces where such a task would require less force. For miles around the creature’s former position, the sea floor was scarred and torn. Nothing there was left alive. Fortunately, the oceans were vast and they would recover.

            Admittedly, the Great Leviathan made for an unusual Void God. His ascension elevated his mind, granted him a complexity that nature had denied him, while leaving the patterns of thought native to his kind. His form altered, becoming even more alien compared to his mortal brothers. His presence seeped throughout that portion of the abyss which touched his home world and suffused it with haunting song. The Void accepted the Leviathan’s song and made the sound into a part of itself—the ancient music echoed through to touch faraway worlds that had never dreamt of whales. On distant desert planets, where war was waged over water, future generations would stumble upon hidden caverns and marvel at the mournful melodies that spilled up from below.

            Legions of the faithful rejoiced in the presence of their god and courted the Great Leviathan’s favor. Honored priests sought out those places where the Leviathan’s voice rang the clearest. They dedicated themselves to seeking the meaning behind each melody and passing the deity’s wisdom on to their people. They hunted the sacred bones to craft talismans for the faithful. The Great Leviathan was wise and enigmatic, alien and mysterious, everywhere and nowhere. He was a momentary apparition glimpsed in the far distance, an unseen presence watching from the shadows, a singular song trembling through deep water. As the Void had shaped him, he was everything they’d sought in a divinity. They were content in their faith in a way that was rare amongst living creatures.

            An eon passed. The last grand civilizations of Toraz’s aquatic denizens crumbled to dust, as all things eventually do. In the absence of the faithful, the world was quiet and the Void turned its interest elsewhere. When sentient lifeforms arose on Toraz for the second time, they dwelt on the planet’s dry landmasses. They were different from their predecessors, with different minds and expectations. Still, most of them clustered along the coasts, and they still relied on the sea to provide for their needs. Their tribal shamans learned which plants provoked visions that allowed them to commune with the Great Leviathan, as their aquatic predecessors had once done unaided.

            Over millennia, the practice of seeking out specific plants transitioned into farming them. Many of the people moved inland. They sought the divine in those places which in some small way reminded them of the sea: the endless expanse of the night sky and the hidden recesses of caves deep within the earth. It made things more challenging for the Leviathan, but he adapted as best he could. Soon his song was heard in those lonely, hidden places, far from any shore. For a time, it was enough.

            As the first true cities arose on the land, the Void saw that a new voice would soon be required. The humans craved a deity that wore a face to mirror their own, that spoke in a tongue they understood. It didn’t occur to the Void to deny them. No other powers tended to the place. Watching over it had become a matter of habit. The Void was patient. Once more, it waited for a spark.

            The spark that came was unlike any the Void had previously known. Brilliant as a star gone nova was the soul of this unloved beggar-child. _Bright,_ the Void thought. _Precious. Shining._ The boy scrabbled to survive in the impoverished fringes of a prosperous coastal city. If the Void simply reached out and claimed him as it had with the Leviathan, the entire city would be lost to the sea. Ill-treated though he was, the child was kind-hearted, so the Void knew his soul would grieve for those undeserving dead. It would be optimal if the child were to enter a place where the veil separating the Void from the physical world was thin, where it could slip through without leaving destruction behind. This was…problematic. The Great Leviathan’s main temple in the city was lavish, and sat amongst the grand homes of the elite. The city guard would never allow the boy near. The smaller, hidden altars maintained by the lower classes were in dangerous locations, and the child knew never to enter there lest slavers snatch him off the streets. The nearest tribal shrines were too far from the city. It was not a journey that a child could feasibly make alone. None of the pampered city priests were familiar with the old tribal rituals. Their understanding of the Leviathan’s song was inadequate. The Void could not gain their assistance.

            The ocean itself was the best option. The water near the docks grew deep quickly. An underwater cliff only a hundred feet from the shore plummeted to the depths. The boy could swim, of course. If the Void could lure him within reach of that deep water, then the Leviathan would be able to take him without significant damage to the surrounding area. Satisfied with its plan, the Void called to the child. It whispered promises of wonders to be found _just a bit further_ from the shore. Months passed; the child ventured out further and further. The Void rewarded him with small gifts from the sea. A striped eel brought him a rare black pearl that he was able to trade in the market for new foot wrappings and several days’ worth of fruit and dark, honeyed bread. A pathetic fraction of what the pearl was worth, to be certain, but the boy was happy. His belly was full for the first time in his memory.

            Pleased with its success, the Void sent small, silver-scaled fish to the child with strips of edible seaweed and the tangy, aquatic fruits called seaberries. A sea snake gave him a second pearl, which he used to buy new clothes to replace his rags and more bread from the bakery stalls. Blue-shelled crabs approached him with copper coins they’d found in the water. It was customary for sailors and travelers alike to toss a coin or two into the bay upon their ship’s arrival before docking—a token offered to the Great Leviathan in gratitude for reaching shore.

            For the first time in his life, the boy learned the taste of the spiced, shrimp-filled pastries that had long taunted him with their scent when he passed by the hot food vendors. The child was clever, with the cunning found in those who survived on the streets. It took little time for him to realize that venturing deeper into the waves carried richer rewards. Men no longer kicked him or spat on him in the market. A peasant child in homespun with only a few coppers to his name was still treated far better than a ragged beggar. When drunken, violent dockworkers approached him, he learned to flee into the water. The schools of green-fin hagfish allowed him to pass freely, but savaged his would-be assailants with bladed teeth.                     

            The Void understood the ways of the men of the new city, but not the minds that shaped those ways. The city folk were too different from what it had seen of the human tribesman before them. It relied on its avatars to provide understanding, and the Leviathan knew men’s hearts no better than the Void did. If it had noticed the potential timelines that surrounded the city, tragedy might have been averted, but the Void touched myriad worlds and times. Only a small portion of its attention rested on Toraz, and that entire portion was focused on the choices of a single child.

            The Void’s favor had not gone unnoticed. Rumors of a street child blessed by the sea reached unfriendly ears. For years, the cultists had been searching. They had oracles, rare souls blessed and cursed with the ability to hear twisted fragments of the Void’s whale song whispers. These seers had told them that the Void sought a specific boy-child. They **_insisted_** that the foretold child was destined to become a god. Not an ancient, incomprehensible thing like the Great Leviathan, but a god meant for their people. The faithful longed for such a deity, and the cultists dreamed of the rewards they would gain by delivering the child of prophesy unto the Void. Surely they would find eternal favor. Surely the former mortal would bless them for aiding in his apotheosis.

            They came for him in the dead of night, on the ides of the Month of Darkness. They drugged his mind with moonflower, and caged his flesh in iron. They bore him to a sacred place, days down the coast from the city. The cultists had found the rift many years before. Hidden deep within a sea cave, there was a crack in creation, a fracture in time and space that permitted passage into the abyss. The cultists revered the rift, and they’d raised up a temple around it.

            Upon their arrival, they prepared him at once. The priests cut the boy’s hair. They trimmed and shaped his once-ragged nails and coated them with iridescent ebony lacquer. His body was washed clean and anointed with fragrant oils. The priestesses painted runes onto his skin, and applied a paste made of kohl and whale oil to his eyes. He was dressed in ceremonial robes with colors that shifted like the tides. The High Priest personally placed the rings upon his fingers.

            Their work done, they carried him through the crack between the worlds and into the abyss. They wended their way to a floating island where ancient, withered trees ringed a stone altar. The cultists bound him to cold, black stone and began the ritual. As the chanting reached its crescendo, the High Priest raised the twinned sacrificial blade, and the boy knew the meaning of terror.

            The Void was eternal, so its consciousness stood outside of time. It had never truly understood the speed at which things changed for mortals. It could shift timelines after all, could replay events again and again until it reached the desired outcome. Permanency was not a thing it comprehended. It was distracted by occurrences involving one of its avatars on a nearby world, and looked away for only a moment—a moment that lasted a span of weeks for the mortals of Toraz. It looked back just in time to watch the blade descend.

            By bone and blood and blade the cultists stripped the child of his name and mortality, binding flesh and spirit to the Void. Time warped and fractured. The Void reached out to stop the atrocity, attempted to rewind events and undo the evil that had been done to its Chosen. It was to no avail. Time itself had been damaged irrevocably in that instant. The sacrifice of its Chosen became a fixed-point, one of the few absolutes in a multiverse of near-endless possibility. There was no reality wherein the boy wasn’t sacrificed on that accursed altar.

            The Void trembled. Its scream of rage echoed throughout creation. The sound was beyond hearing, but it was **_felt_**. On countless worlds, mortals and gods felt the icy touch of dread upon them. The elder powers feared the Void would annihilate all of existence in its maddened fury. Those few, poor souls unfortunate enough to be in the direct presence of a Void God, were wiped from reality as the Void’s wrath vented through its avatars. Near the most expansive fissures in the fabric of creation, stars winked out, consumed by the nothingness from whence they came. In the aftermath, gods and powers were left to wonder in vain about what was capable of inspiring rage in such a thing as the Void. Wisely, they voiced no thoughts on the matter, and would walk softly in its presence for eons afterwards. 

            In the beginning there was nothing, and it woke up. It **_was_** long before the beginning, and **_would be_** long after the end. It was an entity of near-infinite power that existed beyond the limitations of time and space. The Void had never known weakness. It had never felt fear, despair, or pain. Now, it **_knew_**. It understood what it meant to be helpless. Its Chosen screamed in anguish, his agony tainting the very substance of the abyss around him, but there was nothing it could do. For all of its power, it couldn’t save its Chosen or spare him from his fate.  

            The Void reached out and ripped the cultists from their world. **_They_** had done this; it **_would_** have its vengeance upon them. It bound them to the ever-shattering moment of their sin, left them to feel the pain of being unmade for all eternity. Then it turned to the tortured form of its Chosen. With a fixed-point in place, options were limited.

            With a pulse of power, the Void halted the flow of time. All of creation hung motionless—a fly caught in amber. The Void considered the possibility of leaving reality suspended. If time **_was not_** , then none of the horrible things that came with time could be either. Fear and pain, anger and despair: none of them would exist without time. Despite the tempest brewing deep within its thoughts, the Void knew that termination was not truly desirable. Neither was continuance. This dichotomy was bewildering.

            The Void had long been a curious thing, but interest was not desire. The Void had never **_wanted_** before. **_Wanting_** was very near **_needing_** , and such concepts had been alien to its nature. It stared down on the frozen fixed-point and found that this was no longer true. It wanted its Chosen to smile like he had when eating pastries in the market. It wanted him to laugh as he did when the blue-shelled crabs danced on the beach around him. The Void loved all of its Chosen, but it had never actually wanted their love in return. Now, it did. It **_wanted_**.

            As he was, suspended between seconds, the Void’s favorite Chosen would never be able to love it. This was an unacceptable outcome. The Void contemplated other options. It could refuse the cultist’s offering, which would free the child from his torment, but it was uncertain if his soul would survive the damage. It examined probability. _No_ , it thought. _The risk is too great_. Mortal action did this and mortal action would damn well undo it. It shifted its focus, analyzing potential futures, calculating countless courses of action until it determined a solution. It wouldn’t be easy. Millennia would pass before it was done, but in the end, all would be well.

            The Void hummed in pleasure, satisfied with its determinations, and released the flow of time once more.

            The Leviathan swam through the abyss towards the Ritual Hold where the newest Chosen was imprisoned. He wrapped his song around the now-nameless child, shielding the boy’s consciousness from the overwhelming intensity of his fear and pain. The mind and magic of the Great Leviathan seeped into the boy, let spirit slip free of flesh and emerge in the swirling expanse.

            The Outsider opened onyx eyes filled with starlight and surveyed his new home. His pain was constant, but no longer overwhelming, shielded now by whale song and the Void’s immense power. He was not a proper Void God, his transition warped and incomplete. He understood the Void’s intentions only in fragments and impressions, but he felt its love and the way it coiled protectively around him. Until the time came when he could be freed, it was the best the Void could do. For now, it was enough.


	2. A Poor Excuse for a Heretic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any portion of the Dishonored® franchise. To the best of my knowledge and belief, Dishonored® is the intellectual property of ZeniMax® Media, Inc. This transformative work (fanfiction) is produced as a tribute in honor of the series and was made solely for the pleasure of creating and sharing said tribute. I receive no financial reward for its production. I own only the original story line which I personally created, any original characters featured, and the exact order in which I wrote down the words of this story. Everything you recognize from Dishonored® and any references made to other published works are the property of their individual copyright holders.
> 
> Author's Notes: As of this chapter, there will be occasional pieces of dialogue that are lifted directly from the games. I use these rarely and only in snippets. Also, this chapter contains the one and only reference to Dishonored: The Corroded Man that will be found in this story. I thought I'd at least tip my hat to it.

During those first adrenalin-drenched nights after he received the mark, Corvo often found himself on bended knees before one of the Void God’s altars. It was more a collapse than a kneel, more exhaustion than reverence. They’d both known it wasn’t piety. Corvo had none of that within him. If he’d ever possessed even a specter of faith, his mother had exorcised it during his childhood. She’d force him onto his knees, and demand he spend endless hours reciting the Seven Strictures: condescending words written by a pompous man and worshiped by fools centuries after the bastard’s death. His mother had been one of those fools, utterly devoted to one man’s litany of hate: self-hatred, hatred of others, and always, **_always_** hatred for the Outsider.

            Paloma Attano was a decent mother in every other aspect. She loved her children. She just loved the Strictures **_more_**. When Corvo’s father was still alive, it hadn’t been so bad. The Abbey’s teachings were ever-present, but you didn’t choke on them. They’d been happy enough. Things changed when her husband died; it was no surprise when Beatrici fled soon after, driven out by the constant recitation of _Wandering Gaze_ , _Restless Hands_ , and _Wanton Flesh_. As a teen, Corvo joked that his sister had just taken their mother’s advice and used her _Roving Feet_ to get herself far away from Karnaca.   

            He joked, he laughed, and deep inside he **_burned_** with rage against the words that stole his sister and turned his mother into a parody of herself. At fourteen, Corvo toyed with the idea of building a shrine and taking up Outsider worship in a fit of spite against those hated words. He never did so only because he knew he lacked the conviction needed. Corvo had always believed in doing things **_well_**. That which he did, he strove to be the best at. He was already a failed devotee of the Abbey; he had no interest in being a poor excuse for a heretic. 

            The irony wasn’t lost on Corvo when **_he_** was chosen to receive the Outsider’s mark—a man whose capacity for faith was likely surpassed by that of the average sewer rat had been personally favored by a god. The mere idea was absurd, but the god in question didn’t seem to care, so Corvo decided that it didn’t matter. Guided by Jessamine’s beloved voice, he’d stumble to some hidden shrine and drop to his knees in relief as the time-slowing effects of the altar wrapped around him. It wasn’t piety, but it **_was_** gratitude. For a handful of moments, he wasn’t running, fighting, creeping through the twisted nightmare landscape that Dunwall had become. For a time, he could stop…and rest…and breathe.

            Corvo wasn’t a master of social graces and never would be, but he had a rare talent for reading people. It had taken him little time to realize that the duration of his discussions with the god were dependent on his level of exhaustion. When he felt as though he couldn’t make it another step, the flow of time would freeze around them and the Outsider would drone on in rambling, esoteric monologues about nothing Corvo ever paid much attention to. When Corvo’s heartrate settled, and his limbs no longer felt like lead, the god would vanish, leaving Corvo to his tasks. It was a hidden kindness that they never discussed.

            After the Lighthouse, the Outsider entered his dreams. The Void God offered what Corvo suspected were words of praise, though the god’s bland tone and blank face made it difficult to be certain. At the end of his speech, the god bid Corvo farewell.

            Corvo awakened in a cold sweat, his heart racing, and his thoughts a spiraling maelstrom. He scrabbled to his knees, clawed his left hand free of its wrappings. His panic only stilled when the familiar black lines were revealed. _It’s still there,_ his mind sighed relief. _Thank the Void._ For hours afterwards, he knelt in the center of his bed, clutching his marked hand to his chest. Corvo may not have had faith, but he had magic. At night’s end, that was, he thought, a worthier thing.      

            Corvo was grateful when the Outsider arrived bearing gifts during the Rat Plague, and he was grateful when it was over and the god left him in peace with his powers intact. Corvo Attano, a man with no capacity for piety, sought out a safe place in the middle of Dunwall Tower and built the God of the Void a shrine with his own hands. It wasn’t a **_good_** shrine; Corvo had seen enough of them to know. He was no carpenter or craftsman. His blood stained the pale wood from all of the times that the metal wire slipped and bit deep. When it was finally done, he lit the whale oil lantern beside it, dropped to his knees one last time, and whispered, “Thank you.” That night, his dreams were filled with whale song, and he knew his message had been received.  

            After Emily’s coronation, Corvo intended to fall back into his previous role as Lord Protector—a man who wore no mask and wasn’t expected to spend his nights dodging Tallboys and running along rooftops in the pouring rain. He was only partly successful. They decommissioned the Tallboys, but the roof running was a part of him by then. And the mark, the mark itched to be used, ached to fill his blood with whispers of Void-song and the addictive croon of magic. When dormant, the mark looked like a well-done, well-healed tattoo. The flawless ebony lines a perfect textural match to the surrounding skin. But if he went too many hours without calling on it, the damn thing glowed and crackled with unspent energy, burning cold against his bones. No amount of gloves or leather wrappings could hide the tell-tale shine of void-light. So he did the obvious, practical thing, and used it.

            During the plague days, Corvo’s energy had been limited. He’d had six months of starvation and torture in Coldridge to recover from. He’d had nights filled with constant motion and no sleep. He’d had little water and less food. It had been difficult then, to remember that there had been a time where he wasn’t constantly cold, wet, hungry, exhausted, and **_aching_**. The scars were still new and they throbbed when it rained. And it **_always_** rained.

            Corvo’s old energy came back after a few months back at Dunwall Tower: months spent sleeping in a warm, dry bed and eating his fill. He filled back out, layers of muscle wrapping over his bones, insulating them from the damp and chill. The scars littering his skin smoothed out and faded. _More than they should have,_ he knew. _It wasn’t natural._ The thought wasn’t criticism. Corvo didn’t value ‘natural’ any more than he valued ‘faith’. He was a man of action, not ideas. Bones that didn’t ache in the rain and skin that didn’t catch when the scars pulled taunt were precious things.

            After his recovery, Corvo discovered he could sustain certain powers far longer than before. This improved with experience. It proved most useful when he took up the mantel of Royal Spymaster in earnest. He spent many hours in the body of a bird perched outside of some suspicious noble’s window, as a corrupt Overseer’s faithful hound, as a fish in an ornamental pond beside which the remaining Ladies Boyle had tea parties and talked politics.

            With practice, Corvo learned to control more creatures than ever before, both in kind and in quantity. Only two years after the plague ended, he could possess any animal he encountered of rat-size or above. He made mistakes, of course. He’d never been a student of zoology. It had taken only one incident where he failed to consider the crucial difference between saltwater and freshwater fish to permanently correct the behavior. After that, he did his research. Hagfish, he discovered, were versatile beasts and cared little about the quality of the water in which they swam. Corvo stuck to familiar species when possible. The rats, the pigeons, and the crows were always favored choices.

            Over time, Corvo’s skill allowed him to slip into minds softly. When control wasn’t needed, he could play passenger and watch the world from behind the eyes of a body he wasn’t truly possessing. In this way, he learned how his hosts moved, where they went, and what they did. People grew curious when animals acted in unnatural ways, and he had no desire to arouse suspicions.

            Emily was fifteen when Corvo first possessed multiple hosts. While the rat swarms had vanished at street level, they still thrived in the sewers. He’d only meant to take one, a white rat near the group’s center. He lost focus for a fraction of a second and found himself looking out from a hundred pairs of eyes. The tunnel spiraled dizzyingly around him as he smashed into walls and tumbled off of ledges. Panic turned into madness and the rats that were Corvo flailed, and thrashed, and attacked anything that came near. It took him two days to remember how to not be a swarm of rats, and he was weak and disoriented for days afterwards. When some guards found him confused and stumbling in an alley, they assumed he’d been drugged. He didn’t correct their misassumption. Emily’s relieved tears upon his return filled him with shame, though not as much as the memory of blood in his mouths. He was uncertain how many vagrants he’d killed in his panicked state, but he knew there’d been more than one.     

            After that first incident, Corvo engaged in some cautious practice, but he attempted only a handful of animals at a time. He learned to be a pair of cats prowling behind the Dunwall Courier building, a trio of pigeons roosting in the Tower gardens, and seven crows near Holger Square. As his mind adapted, he grew bolder, and by Emily’s eighteenth birthday he could reliably control an entire school of hagfish, or even a swarm of rats.      

            In another display of universal irony, Corvo’s Void-granted powers led to him trusting the new High Overseer, a man named Yul Khulan. The man had a habit of feeding scraps from his humble meals to the crows that clustered around the Abbey’s training yard. They were drawn there by the tang of blood and the remains of half-eaten rations. Everyone knew he fed them. When asked about it, Khulan shrugged. “My mother,” the High Overseer said, “always fed the crows. They do important work, help to stop the spread of disease, but no one loves them.”

            No suspicions were raised when a crow occasionally perched on Khulan’s windowsill, hoping for extra scraps. Corvo was not the only crow who did so. The man would smile at the black-feathered birds and talk to them about his thoughts, his worries, and his struggles to root out the corruption that had festered deep during Campbell’s tenure.

            Corvo became the finest spymaster Dunwall had ever seen. Or **_didn’t see_** , as it was. Like the others before him, he had spy networks and elite agents, code phrases and dead drops. But Corvo also had magic and all of the wildlife in Dunwall at his disposal. Time spent inside their skins allowed Corvo to understand the thoughts of those whose forms he wore most often. The rats knew many secrets, as did the hounds and the crows. It was the pigeons that surprised him. They knew **_everything_**.

            The alien texture of their thoughts became familiar and he learned to think as they did to glean the precious information they held. In the beginning, every kernel of truth had to be teased out of their minds like meat from a nut with a stubborn shell. He’d write down every bit of poetic gibberish and sketch out the fragmented images he saw in their minds in the attempt to learn what they knew. In time, this became unnecessary. They knew their own meanings, so once he learned to think as they did, he understood without effort. In rare of moments quiet, Corvo worried he barely remembered how to simply think as a man.

            All of his spying took energy, both what the mark used, and to compensate for long hours spent without sleep. Piero had formulated a better Remedy for him. It looked no different from the original, but it was substantially refined and targeted—its only purpose to fuel his magic.

            Near Emily’s nineteenth birthday, Piero’s health took a turn for the worse. The brain fevers that long tormented the man at last threatened his life. Corvo retreated to the shrine he’d hidden within the Tower. He hadn’t ignored the thing. From time to time, Corvo could feel still feel the Outsider’s eyes on him. He sometimes caught the mingled scent of ozone and saltwater while running the rooftops. And so, on new moon nights, Corvo left appropriate offerings on the altar. Admittedly, it was more efficient than reverent. His expression was nearer that of a resigned shop-keep paying protection money, than that of a believer honoring their god. It was simply the cost of doing business. As Corvo had suspected in his youth, he made a poor excuse for a heretic. Not enough faith to be a believer, but too much knowledge to be an atheist.

            Things were different with Piero’s life hanging in the balance. After all the man had done, he deserved better. Moreover, Corvo **_needed_** him, needed his custom-brewed Remedies, brilliant gadgets, and lack of questions. The Academy’s finest physicians could find no answer. **_Sokolov_** could find no answer. But Corvo was not an average man, and he knew a god. If natural philosophy had no cure to offer, perhaps the Void did.

            Corvo dropped to his knees for the first time in nearly a decade. “I know you’re still watching,” he said, “and I could really use some help on this one.” It wasn’t even vaguely a prayer, but it was Corvo’s best attempt. The Outsider hadn’t appeared, but the chill of the void filtered through the air, carrying with it the sound of whale song and the scent of a storm-wracked sea. The pulse of a foreign heartbeat rattled through his veins and within his mind’s eye he **_saw_** : the cliffs, a cave, a series of tunnels, a chamber holding an ancient artifact which waited to be claimed. He felt warning of the dangers to be found lurking on the way. “Thank you,” he whispered.

            That night Corvo descended deep into the winding tunnels beneath Dunwall until he reached a place where the rough stone gave way to that which had been worked by human hands. It was common knowledge that Dunwall had been built above the remains of an older city. Sokolov claimed that it was a continuous process, with the new being built atop the bones of the old. _How many iterations back was this one?_ Corvo wondered. _Was this the city that stood before Dunwall? Or the city that stood before that? Or something even more ancient?_ He doubted he’d ever learn the answer.

            The pictures in his head and the sound of a foreign heartbeat guided his steps. He moved as a ghost. _Hidden as a secret, quiet as the sunset._ His Void-touched eyes saw what others would have missed, so he was able to kill the first potential threat in silence. Corvo didn’t know what it was. He was grateful for the lack of aesthetic detail supplied by his Dark Vision. The thing wasn’t quite man-shaped, but too close for comfort. Regardless, a blade to the throat took care of it.  

            Moments later, Corvo spotted something shaped vaguely like a large hound and slipped into its skin. The shape of its mind was unfamiliar, but its form served well enough. After that, the journey was simple. The things that weren’t men shied away from the thing that wasn’t a hound. On its approach, they reeked of fear. The body he wore was skilled at scrambling over fallen debris and wriggling through narrow passages. By the time Corvo reached the largely undamaged structure of what was clearly an ancient temple, he was certain that the thing he possessed **_knew_** of his presence. Its thoughts showed him images of what must have been the Outsider, but not quite the one he remembered. This Outsider had razor-edged teeth and the outlines of bones beneath his skin were far too predatory. He saw the image of void-light surrounding a familiar glowing mark. He felt a question echoing through its mind. _“Yes,”_ he thought back at it. _“Yes.”_ It responded with a pulse of acceptance.

            Corvo slipped free of its skin and it sat, patiently waiting for him to complete his task. The artifact was a torque woven from metal with end-caps of carved bone. The void hummed in the air around it. He pocketed the torque and turned back to the not-hound, slipping into its body as it regained its feet. This time, he rode as a passenger, simply observing as they made their way back. When they reached the place where worked walls once more gave way to rough stone, the thing halted. Corvo sent a pulse of gratitude…an image of dried meat…a query. He often carried blood ox jerky in a pouch on his belt when he ran the rooftops. It was a quick source of energy, easily pushed beneath his mask. It accepted, and he laid the jerky on the ground before returning to the caves.

            Back within the light of Dunwall Tower, the torque proved to be crafted from an unfamiliar bluish metal. The bone pieces were carved into the stylized heads of something close to hounds, but scaled instead of furred. For years afterwards, he would, on occasion, have to fight off the urge to return to those tunnels and seek out the answer to what **_exactly_** dwelt below the world he knew. The torque halted Piero’s degeneration and the man’s health improved over the course of several months. Once it sat around his throat, it couldn’t be removed. Corvo simply **_knew_** , the way he sometimes did, that it wouldn’t release Piero until death.

            The torque was not a subtle bonecharm. Any vaguely competent Overseer would notice its droning song. Corvo arranged for the man to vanish, moved him to a small town of farmers halfway between Old Lamprow and Poolwick. Cecilia gave up her pub and went with him. The Abbey had no presence there, and the locals wore bonecharms openly. They were more than happy to have a man with medical training living in their community. Corvo knew that they’d look after the eccentric genius. Corvo arranged for agents to stop by at irregular intervals. They’d drop off supplies for Piero’s experiments, and collect completed gadgets and vials of Remedy. 

            Corvo couldn’t risk visiting Piero, lest he draw attention to a place chosen specifically because no one paid attention to it. Nor was it safe for the man to return to Dunwall. Their friendship became a series of letters written in code under false names. It was better than having no contact, but Corvo missed their discussions. Their odd friendship had grown important to him over the years, and Piero had been one of the very few Corvo actually trusted. None-the-less, it was worth it. Piero had his life and his experiments. Cecilia had finally gotten her wish and she was a good wife for him, making certain that he came up on occasion for air and food. Her unique ability to remain unnoticed no doubt helped to keep them hidden. After the first few years, the old man who ran the local pub retired and Cecilia took it over. She renamed it “The Crow’s Roost” in Corvo’s honor.

            Over the next few years after Piero’s relocation, Corvo buried himself in his work: rooting out the turncoats and troublemakers within the government, strengthening the City Watch, and expanding his spy networks further into Morley and Tyvia. His contacts weren’t as strong there. Morley had been a problem in the not-so-distant past, and the Tyvian High Judges were cruel, treacherous creatures by nature. Something told him that trouble would come out of Tyvia one day. He just didn’t know how or when. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! Kind or critical, comments really motivate me to keep writing. Thanks for reading!  
> Special thanks to my lovely beta, CaptainXeno!


	3. Blood in the Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: This chapter features a few lines of dialogue (both full and partial) lifted directly from the games. I do my best to make certain that these are used very sparingly and only when needed. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any portion of the Dishonored® franchise. To the best of my knowledge and belief, Dishonored® is the intellectual property of ZeniMax® Media, Inc. This transformative work (fanfiction) is produced as a tribute in honor of the series and was made solely for the pleasure of creating and sharing said tribute. I receive no financial reward for its production. I own only the original story line which I personally created, any original characters featured, and the exact order in which I wrote down the words of this story. Everything you recognize from Dishonored® and any references made to other published works are the property of their individual copyright holders.

            On the sixteenth day of the Month of Rain, 1849, two weeks after Emily’s twenty-second birthday, Corvo grew restless. _Something’s not right._ The thought floated through his head late in the evening like a drop of blood unfurling in seawater. It was nothing more than a creeping sense of wrongness, but it was constantly there, taunting him. He traversed the city that night, searching for the source of his unease, but found no answers. There was nothing out of the ordinary lurking in the maze of the sewers, stalking the streets, or visible from the skies.

            Another man may have ignored the feeling, may have pushed it to the back of his mind and left it in a drawer labeled ‘Paranoid Delusions’. Corvo was not that man. He knew he was absolutely paranoid, and also that they were absolutely out get him. Listening when that electric tingle crawled its way up his spine meant the difference between life and death, between shadow and spotlight. Besides, he wasn’t the only one who felt it. His favorite informants agreed; the rats were agitated, and the crows, but none of them knew **_why_**.

            Over the next few years, the dread waxed and waned like the ebb and flow of the tides. It weakened or intensified, but was never truly **_gone_**. It was always there at the edge of his perception, an endless, agonizing refrain: _Something’s coming. Something’s coming. Something’s coming._

            Unfortunately, none of life’s other problems ceased to exist simply because he couldn’t find the source of his malaise. The Empire in general, and Dunwall in particular, continuously teetered on the edge of chaos. Therefore, a great many problems were waiting in line for his attention.

            When the Dunwall Courier began running headlines about the so-called Crown Killer Murders, Corvo **_knew_** it was connected. He warned Emily as best he could. They meant to discredit her and frame him. He knew what they intended, he just couldn’t see how. He needed to determine what their next move would be. He kept his eyes focused on the streets, watching for any indication.

            Then there was Delilah. With her came the knowledge that **_something_** had finally come. When he saw Ramsey’s betrayal, he cursed himself for a fool. He’d spent **_years_** rooting out corruption in the City Watch, but for the past three, since the feeling first started, his eyes had been focused outside of the government, not within it. _You dumb bastard,_ he berated himself. _You let yourself get too comfortable, let yourself believe that you’d weeded out the traitors, and now Emily is going to pay the price._

            The witch’s magic tasted of rot and disease; the Void didn’t ** _sing_** inside of her. She was powerful, but **_wrong_**. Even so, she was able to pull the magic from his bones and the mark from his hand. When the stone flowed over him, he felt the pulse of a foreign heartbeat deep inside his mind and knew that mark or no mark, the Void hadn’t abandoned him. Corvo wrenched his mind free of his petrifying flesh and fell into the abyss. He **_needed_** to know what happened to Emily. _If she was… **No.** _ He refused to even think it. He’d trained her, and trained her well.

            With the expanse of the abyss hanging above him, he found himself in a long stone corridor reminiscent of the ones he’d once found deep beneath the city. Here and there, mirrors hung against the wall. He saw familiar shrines reflected in those mirrors. Disembodied spirit though he might have been, Corvo’s form in that place beyond the world was no different than it ever was. The mark once more glowed on the back of his left hand. Corvo’s lips curled into a savage smile. The barrier between worlds was weakest near Outsider shrines, and Corvo knew the locations of dozens of them within Dunwall.  

            Corvo used the reflected shrines to slip back into the physical world and into flesh that, while not his own, was still familiar. From behind the eyes of a crow, he spotted his daughter moving confidently across the rooftops. _Good girl,_ he thought. _Get yourself far away from this mess._ He scanned the streets and spotted plenty of guards, but no one she couldn’t handle. _Treacherous dogs,_ he snarled in his mind. _Don’t think I won’t find **each** of you._ Crows never forgot a face after all. Satisfied that Emily had made it out of the Tower, he turned his gaze towards those who had been less fortunate and went to work.      

            In the months that followed, rumors of unnatural happenings not connected with the usurper swarmed across the city. Civilians spoke of being led to safety by crows, and by hounds that slipped their leashes. They whispered of guards and witches distracted by flocks of enraged pigeons. After nearly a decade of absence, rat swarms appeared once more in the alleys. They ignored the average people, but often took down guards that got too close to the mouth of an alleyway. The river patrols learned that enough hagfish can capsize a smaller vessel. The poor sods that fell into the water didn’t come out again, their passage marked only by blooming red. When the lesser witches from Delilah’s coven were foolish enough to leave the Tower at night, they often fell prey to a monstrous thing that wasn’t quite a hound which was said to stalk the sewers. “Scaled,” the rumors said, “with too many eyes, and a mane of what look like tentacles.”  

            Corvo could only stay in his borrowed forms for a few hours at a time. After that, the Void called him back into its embrace. He had to rebuild his energy before picking a new target.

            The Outsider visited him not long after he returned from that first trip back into the physical world. “Hello, Corvo.” It was a voice he hadn’t heard in nearly fifteen years, but no one forgot **_that_** voice. “You’ll be happy to know she made it out. She’s on a ship bound for Karnaca.”

            Corvo turned to face the God of the Void. It was always unnerving to meet the Outsider’s gaze. His ebon eyes glittered with ancient secrets better left forgotten and uneasy truths you didn’t want to see. Corvo nodded. “Thanks for telling me,” he replied. “Once I saw that she’d escaped the Tower, I **_knew_** she’d make it out, but it’s still good to hear.”

            The Outsider cocked his head, birdlike. Shadowy tendrils of Void-magic swayed around him like seaweed in a gentle current. _Calm then,_ Corvo thought. _Good. It’s better when he’s calm._

            “How does it feel, old friend? To know you’ve slipped up again? That you’ve lost another Empress?” The Outsider’s voice wasn’t just mocking, it was **_expectant_**.

            The banked embers of Corvo’s ever-present rage flared to sudden brightness. Corvo barely managed to stop himself from snapping. _Don’t rise to his bait,_ Corvo told himself. _You know that’s what he wants._ “ ** _Don’t_** ,” Corvo growled. “I already know where I fucked up. Hindsight being what it is. I **_don’t_** need to hear it from you. Considering where I’m standing right now, I should have plenty of time to dwell on my failures without your aid. Besides, don’t you have better things to do? Aren’t things interesting enough right now? What’s the point of coming here to taunt me?”

            The Outsider tilted his head the opposite direction from before, eyes bright and inquisitive as they locked onto Corvo’s face. The Void-tendrils were still calm, so Corvo took a risk. After so many hours spent as a bird, his body knew the movements of his namesakes. He cocked his own head, clasping his hands behind his back to mirror the god’s stance as he stared back.

            Time meant little in the abyss, and Corvo could not have said how long they stood as silent, staring statues reflecting each other. It was long enough that the Outsider’s sudden smile was startling. “Oh Corvo, how I’ve missed you. You never fail to fascinate.”

            Corvo’s brows shot up. “Missed me? Don’t act like you haven’t been about. I feel you watching, you know.”

            The Outsider gave a wordless hum of acknowledgement. He drifted down, his feet coming to rest on the stone floor. He turned to pace slowly across the corridor’s width. “The main excitement is over for the moment. Events will speed up soon enough.” He gave Corvo an appraising look. “Fair warning, Corvo, I intend to offer my mark to young Emily. She’ll need it in the days to come.”

            Corvo stiffened. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his mouth and out through his nose. _He’s not wrong,_ Corvo told himself. _She’s on her own. I’m not there to protect her this time. She’s going to need every advantage. Void knows **I** wouldn’t have made it through the plague days without my magic. Who am I to judge?_ In spite of his logic, he still didn’t **_like_** it. In his own mind, he admitted that it wasn’t so much that he didn’t want Emily to have the mark as that he hated the fact that she needed it.  

            Corvo swallowed. “I understand.” He looked over at the Outsider. “With what Delilah **_is_** , with what she’s doing… Emily’s going to be under a spotlight once she retakes the throne. And the Abbey…as much as I hate the sons of bitches, she has to deal with them. She can’t afford to be labeled a heretic. The rumors about me over the years have caused her trouble enough.”

            The God of the Void studied him. “What are you suggesting?”

            “Put the mark somewhere else,” Corvo said. “The hand is too obvious. Every damn Overseer in the Abbey’s service has heard the old legends. If they ever have cause to suspect, it’s the first place they’ll want to look. I can snarl and snap and refuse to let them ‘gawk at my scars’ all I want. Everyone in Dunwall knows that I’m a stubborn bastard, but Emily has built up a reputation for kindness and cooperation. If they suspect, and she refuses to show her hand, it could turn real ugly, real fast.”

            The Outsider looked down and Corvo couldn’t make out the god’s expression. “I’ll consider it.” 

            Corvo sighed and nodded. He didn’t push further; it wouldn’t do any good.

            The Outsider returned to his pacing. The tendrils’ movements were faster now and lacked their previous serenity. “Delilah has found a way to enter the abyss on her own. It would be… ** _unfortunate_** if she were to find evidence of your presence here and realize that you’re not the helpless trophy she considers you to be.” The Outsider’s ebon eyes briefly met Corvo’s own. “It would be most inconvenient if she were to say…smash you with a hammer.”

            Corvo swallowed. That definitely sounded like something to avoid. “I admit that if I’m going to die any time soon, I’d rather it not be at that bitch’s hand.”

            The god made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “While certainly problematic, it wouldn’t necessarily kill you, not unless she immediately ended the spell.” He paused, considering, before shaking his head. “No. I don’t foresee her turning your body back to flesh either way. It’s far more probable that she’d leave you in identifiable stone pieces in the event that she needed them to torment Emily at a future date. However, it would be extremely tiresome if you required reassembly, and I’d prefer to avoid the situation.” The Outsider glanced at Corvo. “You **_know_** that I prefer to never engage in personal interventions.”

            Corvo stared at him. He really didn’t want to be smashed into pieces, even if he could somehow survive it. The idea was completely unnerving. Regardless, that wasn’t the part of the Outsider’s statement that caught him off guard and sent his mind reeling. “Wait. Are you actually saying that you’d put me back together yourself if it came down to it?”

            The Outsider had the best poker face Corvo had ever seen. It had only taken two meetings for Corvo to learn to watch the Void-tendrils when he spoke to the god. The tendrils reacted; from them, the enigmatic being’s mental state could be gauged. It was far more efficient than watching the god’s countenance. The few facial expressions that the Outsider displayed were vague and muted at best. 

            Therefore it was unsurprising that Corvo was taken aback when the Outsider’s head snapped towards him, irritation clearly painted across his pale visage. “What?” The word came out like the hiss of steam from a busted pipe. “Of course, I would! Why would you ever think otherwise?”

            Corvo blinked, and then blinked again. He had no idea what to say in response to that. _Because you’re a god,_ he thought. _Because you don’t actually **care** about people. Because we’re just dancers on a stage giving you something to watch, keeping you entertained throughout the ages._ He shrugged. “I…it honestly never occurred to me that you’d care enough to bother.”

            For an instant, the Outsider looked stricken. The expression vanished as quickly as it appeared, melting back into the smooth, masklike blankness that was normal for him. If Corvo hadn’t been watching so closely, he’d have believed that it was nothing but his imagination or a simple trick of the light.

            The god sighed. “I suppose that’s really my own doing. I don’t like to get involved. It’s…messy when I do. It’s too easy for me to unbalance things.” He returned to his pacing, no longer meeting Corvo’s gaze. “Well, rest assured that I would be **_bothered_**. I wouldn’t leave you as a small pile of rock.”

            Long moments passed as Corvo fought to adapt to this shift in his view of the world. Before he could finish gathering his thoughts, the god began to speak. “Due to the potential risks of your being discovered, you won’t be able to leave this corridor. The Void has isolated this portion of itself. Delilah won’t be able find you here. I’ll do my best to keep you updated on what’s happening with Emily, but my visits will have to be limited.”

            The god shuddered. “Delilah is…a part of me for now. I don’t like it. In practical terms, it means I can’t come near when she’s in the abyss; I can’t risk leading her to you. I also won’t be able to tell Emily about your presence. It could be dangerous to mention you where Delilah might overhear.”  

            Corvo nodded, accepting this without question. He had no desire to encounter the witch here, where he would be unable to resort to his usual problem solving methods. The idea that the witch was ‘part of’ the Outsider made him feel nauseous even without a body. Finally, he asked, “Does Delilah have your mark?” He couldn’t think of any other way that the witch could have even begun to gain the power she had. _Even if her power **is** wrong,_ he thought with a shiver.

            The Outsider’s steps didn’t falter. “She does.”

            When the god said nothing further, Corvo continued to press. “What’s wrong with her magic? She’s not like the others. Not like me, or Daud, or even Granny Rags. She feels like her soul is rotting inside of her.”

            The Outsider’s shoulders stiffened. “She feels that way because it is. She wasn’t satisfied with the power she’d been given. She always wanted **_more_**. When I wouldn’t give it to her, she found a way to steal it.” The god’s smile was razor-edged, his teeth sharp and inhuman. “You don’t steal from the Void without paying a price. She believes herself immortal, that she can take my place, but nothing she can do will halt the spread of the corruption inside of her. It will end her in time.”

            The Void God glanced back at Corvo. “Unfortunately, the process isn’t fast enough to save your Empire. If Emily wants her throne back, she’ll have to take it.”

            Corvo nodded in understanding. _How damned arrogant do you have to be to decide it’s a good idea to steal from the Void? Or to attempt to replace a god?_ he wondered. “I have to ask…why would you choose to mark someone like her? You see things: the future or at least the possibilities. You had to know she’d be a problem.”

            “There’s no one quite like Delilah,” the Outsider told him. “She wasn’t always as she is now. She was a marvel once, cunning and ambition the likes of which this world has never before seen.”

            Corvo’s eyes narrowed. He’d always been a rare talent for reading people, and he’d spent fifteen years as the Royal Spymaster. He could taste deception. It coated the back of his throat like the smoke from the corpse-fires at the end of the Rat Plague. “You’re lying,” he said. “She may be all of that, but that’s **_not_** why you chose to mark her. Tell me the truth.”

            The god’s steps halted in an instant—the sudden stop of a machine, nothing like a living thing. His normal ozone and saltwater scent took on the additional tang of copper. _Like there’s blood in the wate_ r. The god turned to face Corvo slowly, and Corvo was confronted with the face of the Outsider that he’d once seen in the hound-thing’s mind. It was a face the intervening years had never been able to wash away the memory of. Sharp lines and harsh angles, inhuman and predatory, with teeth that put a shark’s to shame. He rose into the air as the shadowy tendrils lashed around him. His eyes **_burned_** —an inferno barely contained by black glass.

            “ ** _Fine_** ,” the nightmare hissed. “You want the truth, little mortal? Then you shall have it. The lie is in the word ‘chose’.” His head twitched to one side and he grinned with too many teeth. “Or at least, in who did so. **_I_** didn’t choose her.”

            Corvo’s heart pounded in his chest, tried to crawl up his throat. He took a step back, unable to look away from his savage god. “Then who…”

            “The Void,” the Outsider sneered. “Did you never wonder what it meant to be the God of the Void? I’ve told you before, it’s more than a place. It holds power beyond comprehension, and I’m its avatar. Fulfilling its will is my purpose, the very reason I exist. I never chose Delilah, or Daud, or even Vera Moray. And I wouldn’t have. The Void would, and **_did_**.”

            The Outsider broke eye contact abruptly. As Corvo watched, the god wrenched his form back into the one Corvo had always known. The tendrils were still lashing at the air like striking vipers. After a moment, the god turned to him, once more under the guise of humanity, once more expressionless. “For what it’s worth, Corvo, I chose **_you_**. The Void would have. Don’t doubt that. But I’m the one who **_did_**.”    

            Corvo swallowed back the bile in his throat. It tasted like shame. _Here I am,_ he thought, _criticizing Delilah’s arrogance while basking in my own. She might be fool enough to believe she could become a god, but I’m fool enough to think I understand what it means to be one._ He met the Outsider’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

            The god tilted his head, birdlike and curious once more. “I accept your apology. You couldn’t have known.”

            Corvo sighed. “It’s affecting you, isn’t it? Her presence here, I mean?”

            The Outsider nodded. “Yes. I hadn’t lost control in a very long time prior to Delilah, not since the Great Burning. Her energy…unsettles me. You’ve felt it, but it’s **_inside_** of me. I feel her corruption like poison in my veins.”

            Corvo’s skin crawled at the thought. His eyes went wide. “Can she… I mean, please tell that she can’t permanently affect you.”

            One side of the Outsider’s mouth quirked into a smile. “No, Corvo. She’s not **_actually_** contaminating me. It just feels that way while she has a presence here. Until she’s been dealt with, I’ll just have to bear it as best I can. I’ll be awaiting Emily’s triumphant return as eagerly as you.” He fixed Corvo with a piercing stare. “Though, it seems you have some plans of your own. That should add something to the show.” 

            Corvo nodded. “I do. It might not be much, but I can help some people and whittle down enemy numbers. I can see to it that Emily has fewer blades at her throat when she returns.” A sudden thought struck Corvo like a dagger to his spine. “Those hound-things? The ones that live below Dunwall? Can they come aboveground?”

            The God of the Void went still, his gaze calculating. “Technically,” he said. “The zotl are light-sensitive, but so long as they have a place to hide during the day, they’re capable enough.”

             “Zotl?” Corvo’s mouth tasted the foreign word. _It suits them_ , he decided. “They’re fast, agile, strong, good climbers, and they’re clearly predatory. The other things down there were afraid of the one I was possessing, so I assume they’re pretty dangerous.”

            The Outsider looked at him without expression. “They are that. They’re venomous as well—their bite releases a fast-acting neurotoxin, capable of taking down something the size of a man in seconds. Their scales act as armor, difficult to pierce or cut. They’re immune to both poison and disease.” He paused, seemingly considering something. “They’re also capable of aquatic respiration.”

            Corvo blinked. “They can breathe underwater? Saltwater or fresh?”

            The god just stared at him. “Either.”

            Corvo smirked. “Like hagfish, then.”

            The Outsider watched Corvo with curious eyes. “They can stay submerged for approximately six hours at a stretch, but need time to recover afterwards.” His eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking, Corvo? Zotl are **_not_** mere animals. They may not build cities or use tools, but they’re quite intelligent—much like whales. They won’t allow you to casually use them as disposable weapons.”

            Corvo’s lips curled into a harsh grin. “I don’t need a weapon. I need a hunting partner. Can you tell me how to reach one?”

            The Outsider studied him for a long moment, Void-tendrils twitching like agitated tails. Finally, he spoke. “Very well, old friend. People don’t surprise me often. If nothing else, this should be a thing to witness.” A smile flickered across his face. “Ah, Corvo, you never disappoint.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who left kudos or comments! I adore each of you! :) 
> 
> Please comment! Kind or critical, comments really motivate me to keep writing. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Special thanks to my lovely beta, CaptainXeno!


	4. Home Sweet Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE THE BOTTOM OF THE ACTUAL STORY FOR AUTHOR’S NOTES.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any portion of the Dishonored® franchise. To the best of my knowledge and belief, Dishonored® is the intellectual property of ZeniMax® Media, Inc. This transformative work (fanfiction) is produced as a tribute in honor of the series and was made solely for the pleasure of creating and sharing said tribute. I receive no financial reward for its production. I own only the original story line which I personally created, any original characters featured, and the exact order in which I wrote down the words of this story. Everything you recognize from Dishonored® and any references made to other published works are the property of their individual copyright holders.

            After his restoration to a flesh and blood state, Emily’s father was largely unharmed, but incredibly weak. He’d remained awake just long enough to assure himself that she was safe and that Delilah was defeated, before slipping into unconsciousness.

            _This isn’t good,_ Emily thought. She had no idea what the long term effects of losing his mark would be, and that alone was terrifying. _Could the loss of it lead to his death?_ She didn’t know the answer. He’d always been so vibrant, far more so than other men his age, and she’d long suspected that his mark contributed to that.

            It wasn’t as though there were authoritative texts on subject of the Outsider’s mark available for her to consult. She grumbled to herself about the Abbey’s history of censorship and the paranoia of Overseers. _If the useless pricks hadn’t spent centuries obsessed with rooting out ‘heresy’, I might actually have been able to find something worthwhile on the topic._ An idea filtered through her mind. _The Outsider would know, wouldn’t he? It’s **his** mark, after all._

            Emily sighed. While she would definitely question the god if he appeared, she remembered her father’s stories well. “Once you were back on the throne, he vanished,” Corvo had told her. “I feel his presence from time to time, but I never spoke to old black-eyes again.” Even when Corvo completed construction of the hidden Outsider shrine that housed his runes and extra bonecharms, the God of the Void had been conspicuous by his absence.

            The thought of no longer seeing the enigmatic, onyx-eyed god made her breath catch in her throat and her eyes burn with tears she wouldn’t allow to fall. _Just one more person who’s lost to me now,_ she thought. She’d long known that the wounds left on her heart by her mother’s murder would never fully heal. That hadn’t been the end of it. Not by a long shot. Piero, Callista, and Cecilia had vanished years before. Emily didn’t know if they still lived. Samuel, Alexi, and Khulan were dead. Hypatia would likely never leave Karnaca. Emily couldn’t blame the good doctor, of course. The Addermire Institute was Hypatia’s world, and she would never abandon the miners.

            _Meagan…_ Emily shook her head. _No, she’s_ _Billie now._ Not that it mattered. Whatever the woman chose to call herself, she was gone with the tide. Anton was still in Dunwall, but Emily knew that he didn’t intend to remain for long. Her friends from the ‘bad old days’ were already gone, along with nearly everyone who’d stood beside her during the recent crisis.

            Emily could likely convince Wyman to return from Morley, but the thought brought resignation, not comfort. She loved Wyman. She was certain that a part of her always would, but Wyman hadn’t been a real partner to her, and never would be. She accepted that now. Besides, while she’d loved Wyman, she’d never been **_in love_** with the sensitive Morleyan noble. _Truthfully,_ _I think I was in love with the idea of **being** the sort of woman who **was** in love with Wyman more than anything else, _ she realized.

            Wyman had been Emily’s escape, her youthful dream of laughter and romance and…normalcy. The time to put away childish things was long past. She didn’t have time for that little girl’s dreams any longer. Before the coup, she’d frequently passed her responsibilities onto other shoulders so that she could slip off to linger in a fantasy where she was just a young woman and not an Empress. That foolishness had nearly cost her the throne. _How many people lost their lives,_ she wondered, _because I didn’t want to grow up?_ With dogged will, she shoved away her guilt. _Guilt is a weakness,_ she told herself. _One you can’t afford._    

            Despite all the thoughts twisting through her mind, Emily longed for the Outsider’s presence. Cryptic as he was, the sound of his voice always brought her comfort. He made her feel less alone. _You can’t dwell on it,_ she told herself. _You have an Empire to run and a city to rebuild. Your desire to talk to an eldritch god isn’t important. Your loneliness isn’t important. You can’t **allow** it to be._

            Emily found her unconscious father surprisingly easy to move. _Well,_ she thought, _if nothing else, I’m physically stronger than I was before._ She idly wondered if this change was a result of the hardships she’d gone through in Karnaca, or simply a side-effect of her mark.

            It took some searching, but eventually Emily located a guest room in a remote portion of the Tower which didn’t appear to have been touched by Delilah’s coven. She assumed that its location was the reason it was relatively clean aside from a bit of dust. She laid Corvo down on the bed. He had no obvious signs of injury, but he was far too pale, his olive skin ashen beneath his native pigment. She pulled a chair up to the right side of the bed to keep watch, and sat down, her thoughts focused on what her next steps should be.

            Corvo was all Emily had left. If he didn’t show signs of recovery in the next day or so, she would be forced to bring Anton in to consult on the matter before the old man had the chance to skip town. Emily admitted to herself that the only thing stopping her from seeking Anton out that instant was her hesitance to reveal her own mark to him. During their time in Karnaca, she’d taken care to never use her powers in the old man’s presence, at least not while he was conscious. She was confident that he suspected something, but he didn’t know for certain. Even Anton Sokolov was hesitant about accusing an Empress of heresy. She shuddered at the thought of becoming his test subject. He’d always been **_far_** too interested in the Outsider and the Void.

            Regardless of her concerns, the aged genius was the only person she knew of who might be able to puzzle out a solution to any problems resulting from her father’s absent mark. _I’ll do whatever I must,_ she decided. _Father would do it for me. But if the old man goes too far, he’d best expect a backhand. I’m **not** a lab animal.  _

            A swirling mass of black smoke and Void-light manifested in the shadowed corner across from her chair. The smoke pulsed before coalescing into a familiar figure. Emily’s heart fluttered against her ribs—a frantic bird beating its wings against cage bars. She blinked in confusion. She hadn’t actually realized that the Outsider could physically appear in the waking world with no shrine in the immediate vicinity. She thought of Stilton’s mansion. _That vile bitch had better not have left a rip leading into the void in the middle of Dunwall Tower,_ she thought.

            The God of the Void approached Corvo and frowned down at him. “Meddling witch,” he hissed. He reached down and tapped the back of her father’s left hand with two fingers and his mark blossomed back to life. Ebony bloomed out like ink on water before pulling back into familiar lines. Purplish light rippled across the surface as the mark settled into place. Fathomless black eyes finally rose to meet Emily’s own.

            “It was never truly gone,” the god explained. “Delilah lacked the capacity to actually strip my mark from anyone. My mark is bound to the very soul of those who carry it, and she could never hold power over that. She just drained the magical energy out of his body. It’s why he was so weak after you released him from the stone. Until such a time as my mark managed to re-anchor a physical manifestation of itself on his flesh, it would have continued to drain him. Now, he’ll be able to recover.”

            Emily nodded, relieved. “Thank you. I was worried about what losing it would do to him.” Unconsciously, she leaned towards the Outsider, drawn to him like iron shards to a magnet.

            The god gracefully inclined his head in acknowledgement of her thanks. “Feed him one of Piero’s Remedies if there are any left in the Tower, or one of Doctor Hypatia’s Addermire Solutions, if there are none. I know that you still have a few of those. It will help him recover his energy. Aside from that, only rest and time will be of assistance. He should be back to himself within a week or two, even after he insists on working himself to exhaustion in the meantime.”

            Emily chuckled. The Void God knew Corvo well and was aware of her father’s stubborn nature. “I will. If they didn’t discover the second safe room, the old one, there should be some Remedies stored there.”

            The god turned his head, eyes searching as though gazing through the walls. Despite their current distance from the safe room, she assumed that was, in fact, the case. After a moment, he turned back to her. “They did not, and there are. The Olaskir safe room is intact. I suspect that the lead lining the walls prevented its discovery.”

            Emily nodded. The lead in the walls was exactly what caused her father to build his shrine there. No magical resonances could seep through and draw the attention of visiting Overseers. They’d stored stockpiles of extra emergency supplies for the Tower in that room: water, hardtack, and numerous vials of Piero’s Remedy and Sokolov’s Elixir. There was even a duplicate of Corvo’s folding sword. Piero had crafted it at the Lord Protector’s request shortly after they’d found a cure for the Rat Plague.

            Emily had nearly forgotten about the duplicate. She hadn’t seen it in years. Her father felt it unnecessary for her to use the complicated, folding sword when the standard variety was safer for the wielder. She remembered him telling her: “There’s no sense in you risking the loss of a finger because forgot to lock the mechanism correctly. If you wore a sword every day, I’d have no problem with you carrying it. The convenience would be worth the risk. But for training, it’s just not worth it.” A smile curled across her face. _That solves one problem,_ she thought.

            The blade Emily currently carried wasn’t actually hers. Her father would no doubt want his sword back, but after her ordeal she wasn’t eager to be parted from it. She’d never carried a blade previously because her advisors had thought it inappropriate for their young Empress to be visibly armed. “Your mother wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing a sword, Your Majesty,” they’d chided her.

            Emily shook her head in irritation at the memory. _I can’t believe that idiotic rhetoric used to work on me. Well,_ _to the void with them if they don’t like it. I’m **not** my mother. My mother would never have escaped the damn Tower.  She had no weapons training of any kind, and just look where that got her. If she’d been armed, she wouldn’t have been such an easy target for Daud. She might have at least been able to take the bastard with her. I doubt they’d question it if an **Emperor** openly carried a blade._

            To the Outsider, she said: “I’ll collect some Remedies for him and do my best to force him to actually get some rest.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, we both know that it won’t be easy to keep him abed when there’s so much work to be done.”      

            The Outsider hummed wordlessly, his onyx eyes staring into the distance. “I’ve placed additional protections on the painting. Nothing mortal will be able to free Delilah from her prison now, and **_I_** certainly don’t intend to let her out.”

            _Well, that’s a relief,_ Emily thought. She’d arrived at the Tower with the intention of killing Delilah, but the painting had provided a different option. She could only hope that it was the right decision, that the witch wouldn’t be able to escape her trap. Delilah had managed to come back from the dead last time, so no matter how unlikely a repeat performance was, the painting seemed the safer choice.

            Emily couldn’t help but ask, “What about other immortals? Could something else free her?” Not that Emily **_knew_** of any other immortals, but it paid to be cautious. Overconfidence had been the downfall of many powerful people in the past, including both Emily herself, and Delilah.

            The Outsider shook his head. “The Leviathan has only rarely interacted with humans, or paid any mind to human affairs, since the time of my ascension. Even in the unlikely event that he chose to do so once more, he certainly wouldn’t free Delilah. He has as much cause to despise her as I do.”

            Emily blinked, remembering the great creature that swam through the expanse of the abyss, the mournful notes of his song infusing the essence of the place. In the Outsider’s presence, she could always sense the Leviathan’s song, hovering just beyond the edges of her perception. “What about other gods?”

            The Outsider chuckled, his starlit eyes locked with her own. He paced around the bed on which her father rested, coming to stand beside her. “There are no other gods, my dear Empress. Not on this world at least. The Void would never permit such a thing. It’s grown rather protective of the place.” 

            The Empress nodded, still gazing up at him. She’d always wondered about that. She found the idea that the Outsider was the only god in the world to be both comforting and vaguely ominous for reasons she couldn’t quite define. She swallowed and attempted to ignore the worrisome feeling. “I have to ask… How are you here? Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but I must know: did Delilah **_do_** something to the Tower?”

            He cocked his head and arched one brow. “No, Emily. Not in the way that you mean. For me to manifest in the physical world is admittedly not a simple thing unless I’m in a place where the barrier between the realms is thin. It’s easy enough near one of my shrines, but away from such places it becomes far more challenging, and the time I can remain is limited. Even now, the Void calls to me. However, the power of your marks serves as a sort of anchor.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s more difficult than appearing at a shrine, but in no way insurmountable.” 

            Emily nodded. She hoped that his sudden appearance meant that he didn’t intend to vanish on her as he had on Corvo. _Of course,_ she reasoned, _Father wasn’t displeased by the Outsider’s absence. Perhaps that makes a difference?_

            The Void God reached out with one hand and laid his fingers against her cheek. They carried the chill of the void and the hum of its magic with them. He smelled of ozone and ambergris, of a tempest-tossed sea. “Go,” he whispered. “Get the Remedy for your father. I’ll watch over him in your absence. It’s the least I can do for an old friend.”

            The Outsider pulled away as Emily rose to her feet. She instantly mourned the loss of contact. She could count the number of times the god had touched her on one hand and she vividly recalled each instance. Those brief moments were indelibly etched into her memory. She suspected that few individuals had ever received that much from him. “I’ll be quick,” she said.     

            He nodded and waved her off as he turned back towards Corvo.

            Emily slipped past the Outsider and darted into the hallway. Unfortunately, the Olaskir safe room was on the opposite side of Dunwall Tower and it took longer to reach it than she’d have liked. She stepped into the darkened library and made her way to a secluded corner tucked far in the back, hidden by the stacks. She examined the bookcase, searching out the correct volume: a musty tome on the traditional heraldry of Gristol’s pre-Imperial noble houses. Emily tipped the book forwards and then pushed it back until she heard a soft click. A floor panel immediately to her right rose up and slid away, revealing a narrow, aged staircase. She took a deep breath and headed down. 

            At the bottom of the stairs, an engraved metal door barred the way. She reached out to the mosaic panel inset into the wall beside it. The mosaic depicted the crest of the now-extinct Olaskir dynasty: a pair of leaping swordfish flanking the central crown. After a moment of strained focus, she keyed in the correct combination. The door unlocked and swung open.

            Emily’s ears filled with the void-song which poured forth from the shrine at the back of the room. A heavy chest sat beside the altar. The runes and bonecharms it contained added their own melodies to the air. As was usual for an Outsider shrine, eldritch energies rippled off of the altar and distorted the air around it. For a fraction of a second, Emily expected the god to appear, which of course he would not be doing. It was almost comedic. Here she was, visiting the shrine of a deity who was currently on the other side of Dunwall Tower awaiting her return. She shook her head, pulling herself from her muddled thoughts and moved to complete her tasks.

            Emily scooped up several vials of Piero’s Remedy and then crossed the room to the workbench where her father kept extra weapons. She opened the case containing the duplicate sword and laid claim to it, then headed back after resealing the room. _We just had one crisis,_ she thought, _I definitely don’t want some fool Overseer to stumble upon a heretical shrine in the middle of Dunwall Tower. Though, I suppose that I **could** always blame the witches._  

            Upon Emily’s return, she found her father awake, sitting up, and engaged in a staring match against a god. _A god who doesn’t blink. I’m not even sure that he **can** , _she thought. _He definitely **doesn’t** though. Ever. It’s like trying to out-stare a snake._ Corvo’s stubbornness rose to the level of idiocy at times. The words slipped out: “Are you **_actually_** trying to stare down the Outsider? Or do you have a head wound that I’m unaware of?”

            Corvo broke off his ill-advised battle in order to glance in her direction. “He marked your hand,” her father growled.   

            Unlike the God of the Void, Emily **_could_** blink, and she did. Repeatedly. “ ** _Please_** tell me you’re joking right now,” she said.

            Corvo shook his head. “He shouldn’t have done it, Emily. What’s going to happen if the Abbey finds out? You’re the Empress! Did you even consider the consequences?”

            Her chin raised and all emotion drained from her visage. Emily vanished and the Empress of the Isles emerged. When she spoke, her voice was silky and cool. “Silly me. I clearly didn’t put enough thought into the Overseers’ feelings on the matter. That was obviously more important than staying alive and defeating Delilah. Why, it’s almost as awful as the thought of a lady wearing a sword. Sure, the lady would have the means to defend herself, but it might make the noble-blooded fops of the Court feel inadequate. We mustn’t have that.”

            Corvo tried to interject, but she cut him off with a snarl, her eyes flashing fire. “Don’t you **_dare_**! You want someone to blame, Father? Well, I’m right here. This was **_my_** choice. ** _I_** took his mark willingly and was damn grateful to have it. You weren’t there. You have no idea what I’ve gone through.”

            Once more, Corvo tried to speak, and was halted by the force of his daughter’s glare. Emily paced at the foot of the bed, whipping back and forth like a caged Pandyssian wildcat. Both man and god watched her silently. Abruptly, she stopped and turned to face her father. “I’m getting very tired of having everyone’s hypocrisy shoved down my throat. The Abbey is filled to the brim with murderers and sadists who spend all their time preaching against sin. When they aren’t too busy committing their own, that is.”

            Her smile glittered like the light on a knife’s edge. “My advisors, who constantly say that I don’t understand the threats against me, are the same old men who demand that I go unarmed lest someone think that I’m not a proper lady.”

            Her eyes narrowed to slits. “And **_you_** , the very man who trained me. **_You_** needed the mark’s power to survive during the Rat Plague. Without it, you wouldn’t have been able to accomplish the things you did. You’ve admitted as much on more than one occasion. Now, when our roles are reversed, you dare to criticize me for making the same choice? Next time you feel the need to shove your hypocrisy down a throat, I suggest trying your own.”

            Emily looked away and forced her simmering rage back beneath the surface. When she looked back, her features were as composed and serene as those of a marble statue. She faced the Outsider with a gentle smile. “It was a pleasure seeing you, as always. I do hope that you’ll visit again soon. I thank you for your assistance, and apologize for the…unpleasantness.”

            Then she turned and sat her father’s sword and the vials of Remedy on the bed beside his feet. When she looked up at him, her smile was sweet. “Drink your Remedy and get some rest. I’ll bring you something to eat in a few hours.”

            With those words, the Empress turned on her heel and strode from the room, gently shutting the door behind her. _Corvo can damn well scream his thoughts into the void,_ she thought. _I have work to do._

*****DISHONORED*****

            **Author’s Notes:** After the last chapter, janed12000 (on Fanfiction.net) asked me how my story will differ from canon and about the nature and origin of the zotl. I thought that I’d post the answer here in case anyone else would like to have the information.

            While there will be a degree of canon divergence here and there, most of what I do is go around canon. In the games we only see a limited amount of the knowledge and experiences of a single character per play through. I write under the idea that we (the audience/players) don't actually know most of what's going on in this world. Even if you've read the companion books such as The Dunwall Archives, you just don't know that much. I try to take snippets of what you see in the games and expand that information in an attempt to create a vibrant, complex environment.

            In the games there are references you can find to Dunwall having been built atop of older cities, which is a thing that's happened in our own world. I took information about places that's happened here, combined that with the Dishonored world, and threw in a dash of Lovecraftian mythology to create the place under Dunwall. The zotl are a unique creation designed for that environment. They were loosely inspired by legends about Xolotl (an Aztec deity portrayed as a monstrous dog who has strong connections with death and the underworld) and the Aztec folklore about the ahuizotl (dog-like water monsters which were psychopomps that carried away the souls of the dead). However, while I took inspiration from the Aztec legends and Lovecraft, the zotl don't match these stories. They're original beasties born in my brain.

            The Void in my story is another example of how I warp details. My Void started with what we see in Dishonored, then I blended in tons of legends about the Void and primordial chaos from different cultures to create my own mythos. What the characters believe about the Void is based on limited knowledge and understanding. It's not so much that what we see of their beliefs in canon has been changed it's just that their beliefs weren't always accurate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! Kind or critical, comments really motivate me to keep writing. I’m always happy to know what my readers want to see more (or less) of in my work.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who left comments or kudos! I adore each and every one of you. It means more than you know. Also, a special thanks goes out to my lovely beta, CaptainXeno!


	5. Heresy and the High Overseer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE THE BOTTOM OF THE ACTUAL STORY FOR AUTHOR’S NOTES.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any portion of the Dishonored® franchise. To the best of my knowledge and belief, Dishonored® is the intellectual property of ZeniMax® Media, Inc. This transformative work (fanfiction) is produced as a tribute in honor of the series and was made solely for the pleasure of creating and sharing said tribute. I receive no financial reward for its production. I own only the original story line which I personally created, any original characters featured, and the exact order in which I wrote down the words of this story. Everything you recognize from Dishonored® and any references made to other published works are the property of their individual copyright holders.

            Corvo Attano stared at the door that clicked shut behind his daughter. _Well,_ he thought, _that could have gone…better._ He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his right hand. _Void knows I should have phrased that better. But she didn’t exactly give me a chance to explain._ _And now she’s angry._ He mentally reviewed everything she’d said. _Very, very angry,_ he amended.

            Corvo turned to his inhuman companion. “What are the odds that she’ll ever let me explain that I wasn’t criticizing her for accepting your mark? That I irritated that you put the mark on her hand, instead of somewhere else?”

            The Outsider made a noncommittal sound as he cracked open one of the vials of Remedy. He handed it to Corvo with a pointed look. Corvo dutifully drank it down with a grimace. The taste was familiar: a mixture of ash, brine, and rotted flowers.

            Once Corvo had swallowed, the Outsider spoke. “The odds are good; she’ll listen once she’s had a chance to reflect on things.” The god cocked his head, considering. “Most of her reaction had little to do with you, and more to do with how angry she already was. Remember, Corvo, she faced Delilah less than a handful of hours ago. The Tower’s condition was very upsetting to her, as was the loss of innocent life. She’s also furious about the corruption she witnessed at the Karnaca Enclave of the Abbey. An Overseer on the street corner in front of the building was preaching to the public about the importance of… ** _eliminating_** heretics. His descriptions were…graphic. Emily also saw their interrogation records.”

            Corvo winced. “How bad?” he asked.

            The god looked away. “It was reminiscent of Thaddeus Campbell’s tenure as High Overseer during the Rat Plague.”

            The bottom dropped out of Corvo’s stomach. _Oh,_ he thought. _That bad._ He’d vainly hoped that Emily would never have to see anything like that. He nodded grimly. “I can imagine how well she took that. Emily’s always had a very definite concept of justice.”

            The Outsider hummed in response. The Void-tendrils flicked at the air around him like the tongues of curious serpents. “She immediately decided that she should seal the doors and burn the entire building to the ground with the Overseers trapped inside.”

            Corvo froze. He turned slowly to look the Void God in the eyes. “Please tell me she didn’t actually…” Corvo trailed off when he caught the Outsider’s expression. Since his recent time in the abyss, he had far more experience reading the god’s moods, so he knew when to stop talking.

            “Of course she didn’t,” the Outsider hissed. “She’s **_your_** daughter. Like you, her thoughts are often violent, but her actions rarely are.”

            Corvo sighed and shrugged. He raised his unmarked hand and rubbed the space between his eyebrows. “As you said, she’s **_my_** daughter. Do know how often I’m only a breath away from losing control? How easy it would be to give in to the bloodlust? It would only take one slip…”

            The Outsider made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “You’ve never been quite as close as you think, Corvo. Your self-control is astonishing. And Emily is at less risk than you. Your daughter has all of your fire, all of your will.” He tilted his head, face contemplative. “She is very much like you, only…” The god paused before finally shrugging. “ ** _Better_** ,” he finished.       

            Corvo nodded. He wasn’t offended by the god’s opinion. He agreed with it. After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Why in the void **_did_** you mark her on the hand? We talked about the risks.”

            Unsurprisingly, the Outsider didn’t visibly react, but the Void-tendrils writhed in agitation. “I **_did_** try to think of other possibilities, Corvo. There weren’t any good answers. There’s a reason that’s where my mark has always been placed. My mark is a conduit for raw power, which is why the magic is controlled by gestures made with the marked hand. The will of the Marked, and the motions they use, are both necessary to shape the power as it pours through.” He shook his head. “It’s also why my mark is traditionally placed on the left hand. Most humans are right-handed. I’ve always placed my mark on the non-dominant side, so as to leave the primary hand free for other tasks. I could technically have placed it on her right hand, but that wouldn’t have accomplished anything aside from interfering with her sword work.”  

            Corvo slumped. He couldn’t really be angry over it if there was a legitimate reason for the decision. “Why didn’t you just say that when I first found out? Before Emily came back?”

            The tendrils returned to their standard seaweed swaying motions. “Your transition from disembodied spirit back to living man was jarring for you, and Emily was unsettled about everything that has occurred in her recent past. You both needed something petty to argue about. I simply obliged.”

            Corvo blinked. _Sometimes I really wish he would be a bit less helpful,_ he thought. “You know, there are times when it’s challenging to be friends with you. I want to be clear on that.”

*****DISHONORED*****

            Yul Khulan had accepted that he was going to die soon. Even with the depraved usurper gone, there would be no escape from his fate. He recited the Seven Strictures in his mind, but it didn’t stop his thoughts from endlessly circling around the events of the recent past.  

            The witches had spent leisurely days tormenting him before tightly binding and gagging him with blood briar vines and sealing him inside one of the foyer pillars. They’d taunted him about what was to come. “Delilah says her little niece will be coming to visit soon,” one had told him. The disturbing doubled tones of her voice shivered down his spine. “Isn’t it nice that she’s traveling all the way to Dunwall to see her dear Auntie?”

            Another witch giggled like an insane child. “She’d best mind her manners or Delilah will encase her in stone and stand her beside Daddy. It wouldn’t do to throw her into Coldridge Prison. One should keep family close, after all.”

            They’d used black magic to make a window in the pillar for him to watch from. He was certain it was only translucent from the inside. They wanted him to see everything, but be powerless to stop what he saw, or give warning. “Don’t worry your head, little Overseer. Once Delilah has dealt with family matters, we’ll let you back out to play. We promise not to forget about you.”

            As he watched, they used some dread spell to transform Overseer Carrington’s corpse into a copy of Khulan’s own likeness. Then, they strung his newly-crafted doppelganger up on the grand staircase.

             When the Empress arrived, he didn’t realize what was happening at first. He’d seen one of the witches fall limp to the ground and thought he heard a second body collapse behind him. Emily appeared behind a third in a flicker of purplish light, and locked the witch into a choke-hold. Grateful as he was to see Emily alive, his heart cried out in anguish. Even as she mourned over what she believed to be his body, the mark of the Outsider burned on the back of her left hand. From where he was trapped, he could see the glow of it clearly. _Heresy._ His mind wanted to reject the knowledge, but he knew what he’d seen. The Empress was a heretic who bore the Void God’s accursed mark.

            Even so, he refused to think ill of her. She was young, betrayed, and desperate. _The Outsider must have tricked her,_ Khulan told himself. _That’s what he does. He preys on innocent minds._ Emily was no black-hearted witch. Khulan had known the girl since she was ten years old. He **_knew_** she was good. He mourned her lost innocence and the claim the Void now had on her beautiful soul. Still, he was glad she still lived, and hoped she would manage to prevail against that pestilence in the form of a woman. _May it be worth the price, Emil_ y. After the Empress had vanished deeper into the Tower, Khulan allowed himself to escape into dreams.

            Khulan didn’t know how many hours passed before he was once more roused to consciousness by movement in the foyer. Survivors moved the bodies and cleared the wreckage. They spoke of Emily’s return and Delilah’s defeat. Relief and sorrow mingled together and hung heavy around him. Khulan knew recovery from this would be gradual and grueling, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that the city had recovered from years spent under the horror of the Rat Plague. Dunwall would flourish again in time.

            When he’d first seen the survivors, he’d attempted to struggle, to make noise to gain their attention. He soon realized his efforts were futile. The witches had done their work well; it was doubtful anyone would find him, at least not before the scent of his rotting corpse brought attention to the pillar in which he was hidden. He took strength from the fact that the corruption that had festered within the heart of their Empire was no more. _At least,_ he thought, _I will die knowing Delilah can’t hurt anyone else. So many of my brothers are gone, but the witch’s evil will claim no further victims._ He watched the survivors for a time before sleep took him away from his pain and growing thirst.  

            “High. Overseer. Yul. Khulan.” The words sounded as though the speaker was standing right behind him, leaning over his left shoulder to whisper into his ear. The voice reverberated with unearthly resonances reminiscent of distant whale song. Khulan’s eyes snapped open. The small hairs at the back of his neck stood to attention.

            Khulan looked out over the foyer and realized it was deep into the night. Nothing moved in the room. He shuddered and wished he could turn around and face whatever this new, void-spawned thing was that had come to taunt him. He’d hoped all of the vile usurper’s servants had been dealt with, that Her Majesty had gotten them all. A sudden thought hit him with brutal force. _The Empress! This thing could be a threat to her! What if it’s a trap left behind by Delilah to kill young Emily?_ Khulan’s heart pounded in his chest as he renewed his long-abandoned struggle against his bindings.      

            “I’ll admit that I’m impressed by your loyalty. With full knowledge of the mark she bears, you still wish to defend her. How very odd. Doesn’t the Abbey burn heretics?” The voice was light and mocking, but it echoed with power.

            Khulan bristled at the words. _Don’t you dare hurt her!_ He screamed in his mind as he fought even harder to break free.

            At the bottom of the staircase, a figure separated from the shadows. Not stepped out **_of_** , but separated **_from_** , as though the shadows themselves had decided to take on human form. The figure approached the pillar silently before floating upwards until he could meet its gaze.

            Every Overseer knew the Outsider had black eyes. In that instant, Khulan discovered just how inadequate a description that was. The eyes that stared into his own were like windows into the void itself, gleaming with starlight.

            Khulan’s heart stuttered in his chest. _The Great Leviathan has personally come to Dunwall Tower,_ he thought. _The Empire is surely doomed._

            “That’s quite enough,” the Outsider’s voice was flat and cold. The Void God’s head tilted to the right in an oddly birdlike motion as those haunting eyes examined him. The god was clearly able to see him regardless of the physical barriers and black magics meant to keep him hidden from view. One dark brow arched. “Your needless panic is becoming tiresome.”

            Khulan’s eyes widened. _Needless?_ His mind reeled. _The Outsider’s servant nearly destroyed this place, and now he thinks that my panic is needless?_

            The Void God’s face twisted into a snarl, the bones shifting into something predatory and even more inhuman. In a flicker of shadow, his teeth became the razor-edged teeth of a shark. “Don’t you **_dare_** claim that Delilah was **_mine_** ,” he hissed. Khulan could feel the Outsider’s rage filling the air like a storm front. “Laugh if you like. Revel in the fact that a mortal managed to deceive a god and steal power which she had **_no_** right to, but don’t you **_ever_** call her **_mine_**.” Thunder echoed through his voice and his eyes **_glowed_** black.   

            Khulan’s mind was blank as he stared at the God of the Void in bewilderment. The Outsider visibly composed himself, tendrils of Void-energy brushing against him as though attempting to soothe away their master’s fury. His visage shifted back to delicate, chiseled features that had been portrayed in numerous paintings. The Outsider gazed at him coolly, as if his prior rage had never occurred. “The real question is this: What am I to do with **_you_**?”

            The Outsider brought up his hands, long fingers steepled just below his chin. _Musician’s hands_ , Khulan couldn’t help but notice. “You know that Emily carries my mark. I won’t permit you to cause trouble for her. I’ll admit that my natural inclination is to leave you to your fate. You’re the High Overseer after all, the leader of an organization dedicated to hating me and all those who seek my aid. The ones who decided that I was **_your_** enemy.”

            The Outsider’s head tilted the opposite direction from before and his lips quirked into a feral smile. “You should really be grateful I never decided that you were **_my_** enemies.” As the ever-moving Void-tendrils cast the god’s face into shadowy not-light, Khulan caught another glimpse of shark teeth. “Tell me, High Overseer, how much protection do you **_really_** believe that your precious Strictures will provide if I decide I mean you harm?”

            For the first time in his life, Khulan discovered that the answer to that question was ‘not much’. He’d always had faith in the Strictures, always felt certain that the Abbey could prevail against the Outsider. After recent events, his certainty had been shattered. Delilah and her coven had already cracked the foundation of his faith, but he’d never actually faced a **_god_** before now. As powerful as Delilah had been, as much as the air around her had pulsed with her foul magic, the difference was clear. Delilah had transformed herself into something more than mortal, but she was **_no_** god. The rotting bog of Delilah’s energy couldn’t begin to match the Outsider’s endless, storm-wracked sea.

            The god in question responded with a wordless hum of acknowledgement before sighing. “As I’ve stated, I would be inclined to leave you here, but Emily would be most disappointed in me. Your apparent death has caused her no small amount of pain. She believes you to be a good man even if you **_are_** an Overseer.” The smile that flickered across his face was marginally less threatening. “If it makes you feel better, Emily doesn’t worship me. She never has. Nor is she a true student of the occult. Ours is an alliance of convenience.”

            Khulan blinked. It actually **_did_** make him feel better. He didn’t know why the Outsider was giving him this information, yet he didn’t think the god was lying to him.

            The Outsider made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “Emily and I both wanted Delilah gone. The witch had built formidable defenses against me personally, and I required a mortal agent to bypass them.” The god paused, considering, head cocked to the right once more, and then shrugged. “Well…I **_preferred_** to use a mortal agent as I was admittedly hesitant to sink Gristol beneath the ocean in order to reach Delilah. Emily, on the other hand, needed the power granted by my mark and the knowledge that I held in order to end the coup without copious bloodshed. As Empress, she valued the lives of her people over any theoretical risk to her soul, so working with me was simply her most efficient course of action.”

            The God of the Void looked Khulan dead in the eyes and raised one hand, purplish light coiled around his first two fingers. “Bind yourself to your word that you won’t reveal the secrets of Emily or her father—that you won’t turn on them for their supposed ‘heresy’—and I’ll free you from this prison. They’ve faced far harsher trials than most mortals can imagine and they’ve inexplicably still chosen to dedicate their lives to the good of the ungrateful people of this wretched Empire. They deserve your loyalty. They’ve **_earned_** it.”

            Khulan froze. _Her father? Lord Attano is a heretic as well?_

           The Outsider gave him an annoyed look. “Come now. I may find your organization absurd, but you’re not **_personally_** an idiot. I know that you harbored suspicions. Corvo managed to rescue Emily and bring down a powerful conspiracy in the middle of the Rat Plague without leaving piles of corpses in his wake. Did you **_really_** believe that he accomplished all of that with nothing but flesh and steel?”

            _Not really,_ Khulan thought. _He seemed like an honorable man, so I tried not to think about it overmuch. But I have to wonder why **you** were willing to help him._    

            The Outsider shrugged and arched one brow. “Thaddeus Campbell. His hypocrisy offended me.” The god flashed a smile at him with teeth that still looked just a bit too sharp. “Did you know that Campbell died as a Weeper in the heart of the Flooded District, the Heretic’s Brand burned into his face? Now **_that_** was a **_good_** day.”

            Khulan hadn’t known. But he’d been aware that his predecessor was a beast in the form of a man and that his occupation of the position of High Overseer was a travesty. He found he couldn’t bring himself to really care about the man’s fate, or what role the Outsider may have played in it.

            The god nodded, his face turning serious. “Now, do you wish to be free, or not? Your options are simple: agree to my terms and return to your life, or refuse and die here.” He shrugged. “It matters little to me either way.”

            A lifetime of serving the Abbey had taught Khulan how to bind himself to words. He easily composed an appropriate vow and focused his thoughts on the Outsider. Though he couldn’t actually speak, his thoughts echoed through the air. _“I hereby bind myself to this solemn vow: I will not reveal the secrets of Emily Kaldwin or her father, Corvo Attano. I will take no action against them for any acts which the Abbey might deem heretical, and will do my utmost to prevent those under my command from doing so.”_

            Satisfied, the Outsider nodded and the purplish light dancing around his fingers flared to sudden brilliance. Khulan felt a flash of searing cold as the god’s magic bound him to his oath. A sense of pressure surrounded him, an icy energy that chilled his very marrow. There was a sudden jerk and a feeling of weightlessness. Khulan found himself laid out on the floor of the foyer with the god looking down at him curiously.

            “I’m certain you’ll be pleased to know that Corvo doesn’t worship me either. He often finds my temperament troublesome to deal with, though no more so than he finds most of the Court.” A look of contemplation fell across his face. “That’s a good description of how he used to think of me actually, as a temperamental noble who was far too powerful to risk outright offending, but with whom he hoped not to speak.”

            The god made a dismissive gesture with one hand and the blood briar vines binding Khulan turned to dust.

            The Outsider smiled without teeth and inclined his head. “I wish you all the best as you begin restoring the city, High Overseer Yul Khulan. I do hope that you’ll encourage your underlings to stop murdering children in the future. My tolerance is not without limits.” With those words, the God of the Void exploded into a mass of ebony shards that hung in the air for an instant before dissolving to nothingness.

            For some time afterwards, Khulan laid motionless on the floor. He stared at the foyer ceiling of Dunwall Tower, contemplating the strange turn that his life had just taken.

            Shortly after the time of the Abbey’s founding, volumes had been written that described the Outsider in great detail, covering everything known about his appearance, mannerisms, and personality. The authors speculated at length about his motivations and methods. The texts were meant to serve as a guide for future generations of Overseers. The books had consistently described the god as “darkly seductive and beguiling.” After meeting the Outsider personally, Khulan himself would have gone with a description more in the order of “darkly sarcastic and menacing.”

            Weak words about black eyes, pale skin, and trickery had done little to prepare Khulan for the encounter. They entirely failed to capture the sense of power surging through the air with all the promise of a tempest looming on the horizon. None of the writers discussed flashing razor-edged teeth, nor shadowy tendrils glowing with something that wasn’t quite light. The distant echo of whale song hadn’t been mentioned, neither had the creeping chill, nor the mingled scent of ozone and the open ocean. Khulan wondered if the authors of any of those guiding works had ever actually faced the God of the Void themselves. He found that he very much doubted it.

*****DISHONORED*****

            **Author’s Notes:** After the last chapter, janed12000 asked me why Emily switches back and forth between calling Corvo by his name and by ‘Father’. I thought that I’d post the answer here in case anyone else was wondering.

            In Dishonored (the first one), Emily calls him Corvo. In my play throughs of Dishonored 2 she switches between calling him Corvo and calling him Father. They never explain it in canon, but I assume it has to do with how long they hid the information that he was, in fact, Emily's biological father. She called him Corvo for most of her life. I don't see that suddenly changing just because they publicly acknowledged their relationship. He was always her father figure, regardless of whether they admitted to him being her actual dad or not. I view the terms as being interchangeable in her mind. For most of her life, she had to call him Corvo, so the word basically means Father in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! Kind or critical, comments really motivate me to keep writing. I’m always happy to know what my readers want to see more (or less) of in my work.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who left comments or kudos! I adore each and every one of you. It means more than you know. Also, a special thanks goes out to my lovely beta, CaptainXeno!


	6. The Persistence of Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: My poor beta, CaptainXeno, has spent the last week being tormented by migraines due to the apparently endless storm fronts visiting our region. Therefore, this chapter is un-betaed. I apologize for any reduction in quality stemming from this. I’m great at copyediting other people’s work, but not always my own. I know what it’s supposed to say, so I miss things. Regardless, I didn’t want to make you guys wait any longer, so here’s Chapter 6. I will probably post an updated, edited version to replace this one in the future, but any changes made will be technical and/or structural. The overall content won’t change. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any portion of the Dishonored® franchise. To the best of my knowledge and belief, Dishonored® is the intellectual property of ZeniMax® Media, Inc. This transformative work (fanfiction) is produced as a tribute in honor of the series and was made solely for the pleasure of creating and sharing said tribute. I receive no financial reward for its production. I own only the original story line which I personally created, any original characters featured, and the exact order in which I wrote down the words of this story. Everything you recognize from Dishonored® and any references made to other published works are the property of their individual copyright holders.

            Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, First of Her Name, sat in what was once again her office and attempted to sort through the mess. She was astonished by the damage Delilah’s coven had managed to do to Dunwall Tower in such a short span of time. It was as though their goal had been to trash the place, which was bewildering since they were living there at the time and had no reason to assume that they wouldn’t continue to do so in the future. _They were like animals wallowing in their own filth,_ she decided with a shake of her head.

            It was the second day after Delilah’s defeat and the survivors were all doing their best to clear out the bodies and restore order to the Tower. The death toll had been higher than she’d hoped, but not as great as she’d feared. Once word went out that the rightful Empress had retaken the throne and Delilah was gone, people had scurried out from hiding all across the city. Most of the Tower servants had escaped, as had many loyal guards. She learned that some of the guards had actually been thrown into Coldridge prior to Delilah’s coup on trumped up allegations of corruption from Ramsey.

            Emily had discovered that Corvo was responsible for many of the escapes from the Tower. _My father, ever the unsung hero,_ she thought fondly, _now with an army of vermin at his side._ Since she was about thirteen, she’d thought of Corvo’s collection of furred and feathered informants as the Royal Menagerie. Corvo had pointed out that such a title really didn’t apply to such things as rats, crows, and pigeons. Emily had disagreed, stating that it was just one more unique feature of the memorable Kaldwin Dynasty.

            Emily sighed. She wanted to check on her father, but it was still early and she knew that he needed whatever rest he could manage. He would need his strength in the coming days. She glanced out the window at the dawn-lit sky. It looked like a painting, streaked with crimson and rose-gold. _Red sky at morning, sailors take warning…_ The old rhyme echoed through her head. _Storm’s coming._ Her lips twisted into a frown. _As though we haven’t had enough of that recently._

            Emily shook off her melancholy thoughts and re-focused on her task. It took little time for her thoughts to wander once more. After she’d had a few hours to calm down from their initial conversation, she’d realized that she was being…unfair to her father. Even if he **_was_** being judgmental, it was only because he worried about her. He’d never been the one to push her to be a copy of her mother. He was her rock and had always supported her to the best of his ability. Sure, he could have been more understanding, but he’d only just recovered from being unconscious. Ashamed by her prior conduct, Emily had cobbled together a decent meal for him and had gone to seek him out.

            Corvo had been alone when she arrived, and she’d been relieved to note the empty vial laying on the nightstand. _Damn,_ she chided herself. _I didn’t even make sure he took his Remedy._ Regardless of their earlier fight, he greeted her with a smile. Unfortunately, the conversation that followed did nothing to make her feel less like an idiot. So she did the obvious thing, and focused on the bit of his story that didn’t involve her throwing a tantrum. “You were in the void the entire time?” she asked. “That’s remarkable.”

            Corvo nodded tiredly. “I was. Well…when I wasn’t possessing something in order to wreak havoc here. You know why the Outsider couldn’t tell you about me, but he kept me updated on your progress.” He gave her a warm smile. “I just can’t say how proud of you I am. How proud your mother would have been. You did good, Em.”

            From there, the conversation had gone well for the most part. With the aid of a number of vials of Remedy, Corvo had improved greatly by the following night and she expected that he would look even better when she saw him later in the morning. The only thing she was really concerned about was the nature of this new pet which he intended to retrieve from the sewers and bring to the Tower as soon as he was adequately recovered. Corvo’s explanation had been sketchy at best. “They’re called zotl, Em. They live in the tunnels beneath Dunwall, part of the old city Anton always ranted about. He was a huge help while you were gone. He took down those witches faster than ** _I_** could have. You can’t even imagine. I need to build him a den or something in the basement.”

            When she asked for a better physical description, all she got from him was: “Well, zotl are admittedly very…unique looking. He’s basically just a big hound. But smart.” It was the ‘unique looking’ portion that really concerned her.

            As a rule, her father gave precise, efficient, detailed physical descriptions. “Sergeant Anderson?” he’d ask. “He’s roughly mid-forties, 5’10, dirty blond hair, brown eyes, solid, but starting to run to fat. Smells like cheap pipe tobacco, the kind that comes in the blue package. He has a diagonal scar that starts at his right temple and stretches into his left eyebrow. He slightly favors his left side.” Corvo giving a vague description couldn’t possibly indicate anything good.

            _This ‘zotl’ thing is likely a horrifying abomination of the sort that will make people run screaming,_ she thought grimly. _If it wasn’t disturbingly awful, he’d have just told me what it fucking looked like._

            Emily sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand. _It doesn’t matter,_ she told herself. _He’s determined to keep the damn thing regardless. I’ll just have to figure out a way to deal with any fallout._

            A knock on Emily’s door interrupted her musings. “Enter,” she called out. Victoria, one of the maids who’d returned to the Tower, poked her head in. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but the High Overseer is here to see you.”    

            Emily’s eyes widened. _Already?_ she wondered. _Poor Khulan hasn’t even been buried yet. How can they possibly have elected a new High Overseer this fast? Void, but I don’t want to deal with the Abbey’s nonsense right now._ Aloud, she sighed and said, “Thank you, Victoria. Send him in.” 

            The man who walked through the door wasn’t wearing the typical vestments of a High Overseer. Instead, he was dressed in common clothes that were perhaps a size too big. _That’s odd,_ Emily thought as she glanced up to his face. It was Yul Khulan. She was on her feet before she’d even decided to move, her blade at the ready. “Who the fuck are you?” she growled. “How **_dare_** you dishonor his memory?”

            The imposter raised his empty hands in front of him. “Please Your Majesty, you have to listen. That wasn’t me. The usurper’s witches used black magic to make Overseer Carrington look like me. I was trapped and couldn’t reach you before.”

            Emily’s eyes narrowed. _It’s unlikely,_ she considered, _but…possible. He **does** sound like Khulan. _ “Go on,” she told him.

            “Empress, you should know that I saw it…the mark of the Outsider.” The man’s eyes flicked to her left hand as he took a step forward.

            The transition between calm and enraged was instantaneous. Her mark flared, magic singing in her veins as she moved to attack.

            Arms like iron bars wrapped around her from behind, yanking her back against a rock-solid chest, and halting her attack before she could call on her power. For a handful of heartbeats, she snarled and fought, and then the facts clicked together in her mind. _Ice cold arms too strong for any human. The sound of distant whale song. The smell of ozone and ambergris. My mark unresponsive, lying dormant on my hand._ She went limp as the Outsider spoke beside her ear. “Now, now my dear Empress. You’re no killer. It’s not your way. You don’t want to do something you’ll regret.”

            Emily looked up, and found that the man’s eyes were wide as he stared past her at the God of the Void. “Outsider,” he whispered.

            There was a chuckle from the god. “We meet again, High Overseer Yul Khulan. Considering the trials that dear Emily has recently faced, coming towards her when she’s already on the brink of labeling you an enemy is really not the wisest of ideas. It’s a bit like startling a hound that was just pulled from the fighting pits.”

            The man ( _Khulan?_ ) swallowed. “Yes. I see that now.” His eyes softened when they moved to Emily’s face. “My apologies, Lady Emily, I had no intention of causing you distress.” When his gaze turned back to the deity, his entire demeanor turned hesitant and cautious. “I must thank you once again, Outsider. Though, I can claim no understanding of your motive for granting me aid.”

            The Outsider’s grip shifted to hold her with one arm while he brought his other hand up to caress her hair. “I wasn’t aiding **_you_** ,” he hissed. “I released you from your hidden prison and preserved your life only for her sake. Let there be no confusion regarding that point. But tell me little null-priest, are you really so surprised? Did you think me so fickle as to save your life and bind you to a vow to preserve her secrets, just to permit you to die on her blade now? You believe that I would allow her to tear herself apart with the guilt of having your blood on her unstained hands, when I have the power to prevent it? And for what purpose? My own amusement, perhaps? You understand **_nothing_**. Your fool order has never grasped my nature. You’re scared, hateful children trying to catch smoke in a net.”

            Khulan, and by this point Emily had to believe he **_was_** Khulan, shifted awkwardly. He couldn’t seem to look away from the Outsider though he was clearly desperate to. Despite the tempestuous roiling of the god’s magic around her, Emily’s heartrate had settled once more, and she took a deep breath to further center herself. A large part of her just wanted to stay where she was, allowing the God of the Void to support her weight. It felt…safe. Instead, she took another breath and smiled weakly at Khulan. “Perhaps,” she said, pleased when her voice came out steady, “it would be best if we sat down and discussed things civilly.”

            Khulan gave her a jerky nod. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

            The Outsider shifted forward, his breath dancing across her ear. “I apologize for not having the opportunity to warn you of his survival. My attention was briefly called away. I’ll see you soon, Emily.” With those words he settled her back on her own feet and stepped away from her. A pang at the lost contact hit her instantly, but Emily forced the feeling down. The Outsider turned to look Khulan straight in the eyes. “Know that I’ll be watching.” He exploded into ebon shards before fading entirely.

            _Well,_ Emily thought, **_that_** _was certainly dramatic._ In all honesty, she wasn’t really surprised to discover that his whole ‘I’m the God of the Void’ shtick was turned up to high in the presence of an Overseer. He wasn’t exactly a fan of the Abbey. _Though to be fair,_ she considered, _neither am I._ She sighed and motioned for Khulan to sit at the chair in front of her desk while she returned to her own seat. At some point, she’d sheathed her sword without being aware of it. Either that or the Outsider had.

            Once seated, she clasped her hands on the desk in front of her and met Khulan’s eyes. “I apologize for my reaction. Things haven’t been easy as of late. I’m on a hair trigger, I’m afraid.”

            Khulan nodded. “It is I who should apologize. I could see your distress and wasn’t properly cautious of it.”

            Emily gave him a small smile. “I’m very glad that you survived.”

            “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Khulan smiled back at her. “I am very grateful that you were able to eliminate that beastly witch and retake your throne. The Empire **_needs_** you.”

            Khulan told Emily about everything he’d witnessed in her absence: Delilah’s atrocities, the strange events occurring across the city that seemed like supernatural strikes against the usurper, the Abbey’s attempt to take the witch down, and his own encounter with the Outsider along with the resulting vow. She listened intently, asking questions here and there and clarifying minor points. After he was done, he asked her, “Your Majesty, how did you come to be marked? Did the Outsider seek you out after the coup?” 

            Emily nodded. “He did. He came to me in my dreams while I was in route to Karnaca and offered me his mark. I knew that I would need every advantage if I was to defeat Delilah.” She met his eyes without hesitation, with no trace of shame. “Honestly? Refusing his offer never crossed my mind. My father has always been honest with me about what occurred during the plague days. I knew that the powers granted by the Outsider’s mark had had been critical to his survival back then.”

            Khulan blinked, clearly trying to process her words. “So, Lord Attano’s positive opinion of the Outsider convinced you to trust him?”

            Emily barked out a laugh, sudden and startling. “Void, no!” She shook her head. “If you think my father shared fond thoughts about the Outsider with me… Well, the whole idea is amusing really.”

            She chuckled again. “My father didn’t trust the Outsider. He barely trusts anyone, actually. Corvo used to describe him as a ‘meddlesome pest with a thing for monologues’ who needed to ‘get over his kink for voyeurism’. I would hardly describe that as a glowing recommendation. He just also told me the truth regarding the powers he’d received and how useful they were when things got bad.” She shrugged. “My opinions are my own. Don’t try to blame my father for them.”

            “Lady Emily, I’m not trying to blame anyone,” Khulan said with a sigh. “I’d resigned myself to the idea that you accepted the Outsider’s mark out of desperation. But seeing you interact with him…” A stricken look swept across Khulan’s face.

            “I **_know_** you, Emily. I’ve known you since you were a little girl. You **_care_** for him. You **_trust_** him. It was in your eyes when you looked at him.” Khulan’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t even look at that Wyman of yours like that. If I didn’t know better…” He wrung his hands in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. “Honestly, if he was anyone but who he is, I would swear that you were in love with him.”    

            Emily’s eyes went wide. _What in the void is he on about?_ she wondered. “In **_love_** with the Outsider? That’s absurd!” she objected. A whisper at the back of her mind that suggested there might be some tiny bit of truth to Khulan’s words, but she ruthlessly suppressed the thought. She spoke to the High Overseer as though to a small child, “He’s not a **_man_** , Khulan. The Outsider is the God of the Void—an actual deity. He’s not human.” Emily flashed a rueful smile. “I **_do_** care for him. That much is true. I have since before I ever met you. And I trust him, inasmuch as I know how he works and I know that he’s not malevolent. He watches our world, but he rarely intervenes in human affairs.”

            Emily gestured at Khulan with her unmarked hand. “Saving you was very out of character for him, but I honestly believe that he feels bad about not realizing what Delilah was doing until after she gained so much power. I think he regrets what I had to go through because of it, and that he was trying to counterbalance some of problems I’m facing now.” She shook her head and gave Khulan a sad smile. “I know that he’s fond of me in some way. He says that I’m interesting and that few people are. But he doesn’t feel the things a person would.”

            Khulan looked down at his hands, considering her words. After a moment, he looked back up at her. “You say that you’ve cared for him since before I met you, but you were just a child then. If it wasn’t anything Lord Attano told you, how did you have any feelings about the Outsider at all?”

            Emily rubbed the back of her marked hand with her thumb. She took a deep breath to center herself. “After my mother was murdered, they assassins took me to the Pendleton twins who hid me at The Golden Cat.”

            Khulan’s eyes went wide. “The brothel?” he sputtered.

            Emily inclined her head. “The very same. Madam Prudence was being paid off to keep me there, but she didn’t know who I was. She thought I was some nobleman’s secret bastard—possibly even the daughter of one of the twins. I spent just over six months there.”

            Emily shrugged and looked out the window. “Overall, it could have been much worse. I wasn’t in a dungeon or out on the streets. I received daily doses of Elixir, they fed me, and gave me paper and crayons and such. Most of the ladies were friendly enough.”

            “But the Pendletons were another matter. I hated them.” She looked down, fidgeting with her ring. “And I was terrified of them. Thankfully, I didn’t actually understand all of the things they said to me at the time; I just knew they were bad.”

            Khulan interjected, “What kind of things?”

            Emily looked him dead in the eyes. Her face held no expression. “The kind of things only a very sick man says to a ten-year-old girl.”

             A shudder ran its way down Khulan’s spine. Emily clasped her hands on the desk in front of her. “I had nightmares every night. Sometimes they were about the plague, sometimes they were about my father, but mainly I watched my mother die over and over again. I was scared and exhausted, but still defiant. I tried escaping several times.” She smiled faintly. “I almost made it out at one point. When the Pendletons would show up and make their nasty comments, I’d tell them that Corvo was going to rescue me and that they’d be sorry. They told me about him being in Coldridge and said that he was being tortured, that he’d die before I’d see him again.” Her lips quirked up on one side. “It didn’t shut me up though. I insisted that he’d escape and come after them.”

            Emily ran a hand down her face. “I guess they got sick of listening to me. After I’d been there about six weeks, they told me that Corvo had been executed and that no one was coming for me.” Her eyes flicked up to Khulan. “I didn’t believe them because I waited until they weren’t together and separately asked them each how he died. I received two graphically detailed descriptions of his bloody death—via two completely different execution methods.”   

            Khulan swallowed back the bile in his throat. “I’m so sorry, Emily. That’s terrible. I don’t understand how anyone could do that to a child.”

            Emily waved him off. “It is what it is. It was a long time ago.” Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “My dreams changed after that; they got darker, more gruesome. In addition the nightmares about my mother getting worse, I started seeing my father executed in increasingly horrific ways.”

            “Just when I thought I was going to go mad, I stopped having nightmares.” Emily’s expression grew distant with the memory. “Instead, my dreams were filled with a strange landscape—a vast abyss dotted with floating islands. There’d be little bits and pieces of places I knew on them: the parlor where I used to have tea with my mother in the afternoons, my favorite section of the Tower gardens, my old room…things like that. There wouldn’t be any people around, but whales would swim past from time to time. I could hear them singing.”

            “Void-dreams.” Khulan nodded his understanding. “When I was trained, I was told that they were tricks sent by the Outsider to corrupt the weak-minded and that they had to be discouraged at all costs. But even the Abbey admits that everyone has had one at some point or another.”

            Emily chuckled. “Well, in my case it wasn’t ‘at some point’. It was every time I closed my eyes. Void-dreams were the only ones I had then, and after the nightmares, I was damn grateful.”

            Khulan gave her a reassuring smile. “I don’t think anyone could blame you for that.”

            She smiled back at him before continuing. “By the time I’d been at the Cat for four months, I was losing all hope. I started to believe that maybe my father had been killed, even if they were lying about how. Then, he appeared in my dreams,” Emily looked up at Khulan, “a man with black eyes. He was very kind to me. He told me that Corvo was alive and that I couldn’t lose faith. He said that the twins would get what they deserved, one way or another. After that, I started seeing him fairly regularly. He’d have tea with me, or look at my drawings, or tell me about whales. It was nice, sort of like having a friend. It made me feel less alone.”

            “At first, I assumed that it was just my imagination, that he wasn’t real. But then he started telling me things that I couldn’t have known otherwise, just little things that turned out to be true. One night he said that Corvo had escaped from prison and that he’d come looking for me soon. The next day, the twins were panicking. No one would tell me what was going on, but I **_knew_**.” Emily smiled fondly. “The night before Corvo came to get me, the Outsider told me that he was coming. Even after I was away from the Cat, he would appear now and then and talk to me in my dreams, to let me know that everything was okay and that my father was still alive.”

            Emily looked Khulan straight in the eyes. “So there’s your story. That’s the diabolic tale of how I came to care for the God of the Void—at the darkest point in my life, at my most vulnerable, he took the time to reassure a scared little girl and keep her company.”

            Khulan blinked. “I admit that I would never have imagined that as being the reason. Who would have ever believed that the Outsider would comfort a child?” He ran a hand over his shaved skull and sighed. “I’m sorry for prying, Lady Emily. I was just trying to understand how this happened. You were the last person who I would ever expect to become involved with black magic.” 

            Emily frowned at him, tapping her fingers on her desk. “After everything you’ve seen, you should know damn well that there’s a big difference between powers like what I have, or the little boosts bonecharms give, and black magic like Delilah and her witches practiced. I’m not a witch. I don’t know any spells. I’ve never done a ritual.” She shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t even know if **_all_** witchcraft is black magic, or if there are other sorts as well. I simply don’t know anything about it except for what I saw Delilah and her coven use.”

            The Empress gave Khulan a pointed look. “What I **_do_** know is that the sort of magic they were into was bad news. It hurt people. That’s what your Abbey should be trying to stop. As opposed to what you actually do, which is run around and torment average people. **_My_** people. The Overseers in Karnaca seemed quite determined to hurt people for such ‘crimes’ as accidentally stumbling across an Outsider shrine, or carrying a piece of carved whalebone for luck, or maybe drawing pictures that ‘look like heretic nonsense’. Because how dare someone draw a picture that an Overseer might not like?”

            Emily closed her eyes tight and took one long, shuddering breath, then another. She opened her eyes and met his gaze levelly. “You’re a good man Yul Khulan, and I’ve always held you in the highest esteem. I would love to see more Overseers who care about people the way that you do. It was you alone who convinced me that not all members of your order were hypocrites, sadists, and murderers.”

            Emily looked away, her voice growing soft and distant. “I’ve known you since I was a child, and have always thought of you with both fondness and admiration. It is for that reason that I give you warning now.”

            Emily’s head turned slowly back to him. Her amber eyes **_burned_** like twin suns and Void-light danced across her marked hand. Her voice was edged in steel. “Know that I will strip the Abbey of the Everyman of their ability to commit murder without penalty. No longer will Overseers be allowed to kick in doors, and drag screaming children from their homes with impunity. No longer will the Abbey rip away the dignity and privacy of my people, and force them to live in fear. No longer will you burn heretics, or ‘put down’ children who fail your self-serving trials. You are **_not_** the law, and you are **_not_** above it.”

            The Empress’s voice lowered to a menacing rumble. Power rippled through the air like a gathering storm. “To stop the Abbey’s atrocities, I will give every drop of blood from my veins and every breath of air from my lungs. If I have to personally raze the Abbey at Whitechapel to the ground, I will. If I have to halt the purification of heretics with the edge of my blade, I will. If I have to become the most blood-drenched figure in the history of the Empire, I will. Even at the cost of my life: **_I so swear it._** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! Kind or critical, comments really motivate me to keep writing. I’m always happy to know what my readers want to see more (or less) of in my work.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who left comments or kudos! I adore each and every one of you. It means more than you know.


	7. Between the Outsider and the Deep Blue Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: It’s been forever since I last updated and I’m certain that many of you assumed that this story had been abandoned. I apologize. Unfortunate events in my real life made it difficult for me to get any writing done, but I’ve gotten to a point where I feel like I can return to writing regularly. I won’t promise frequent updates, but I intend to post at least one chapter a month on Eyes of the Void. For those of you still reading, thank you so much for your understanding.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any portion of the Dishonored® franchise. To the best of my knowledge and belief, Dishonored® is the intellectual property of ZeniMax® Media, Inc. This transformative work (fanfiction) is produced as a tribute in honor of the series and was made solely for the pleasure of creating and sharing said tribute. I receive no financial reward for its production. I own only the original story line which I personally created, any original characters featured, and the exact order in which I wrote down the words of this story. Everything you recognize from Dishonored® and any references made to other published works are the property of their individual copyright holders.

            Yul Khulan spent most of his morning in the Royal Library at Dunwall Tower pouring over the documents from the Karnaca branch of the Abbey that the Empress had provided to him. It took little time for him to understand the source of Lady Emily’s rage. The information contained in the pages filled him with despair. Fifteen years. Fifteen years he had spent rooting out corruption in his Order and it grew back as fast as he could put it down. It was clear that many of the Overseers in Karnaca were little more than masked thugs and nothing was being done to curtail their brutality.

            Khulan had trusted Vice Overseer Byrne to tend to things in Serkonos, believing that the man’s devotion to the Abbey’s ideals would keep him from straying. Unfortunately, it appeared that Byrne had left the daily operations of the Abbey in the hands of some rather brutal subordinates while he focused on his admittedly valid concerns regarding the Oracular Order and on an ongoing conflict between the Serkonan Overseers and a local criminal group in Karnaca. The criminals in question, which were called ‘The Howlers’, were led by an obvious heretic named Paolo and the reports indicated that Byrne had become completely obsessed with defeating the man to the detriment of all of his other duties.

            Khulan rested his head in his hands and fought back the hopelessness that threatened to consume him. He had no idea how to fix this. Nothing he’d done in his years as High Overseer had made a difference. Now the Empress was on the verge of attempting to outlaw his entire Order and he couldn’t fault her for it.

            “Oh come now, surely it’s not **_that_** bad.” The dark voice reverberated with strains of whale song. Khulan felt the chill of the deep ocean settle over him.

            The High Overseer kept his eyes covered and hoped that he was simply going mad, that the stress of everything he had just learned was the final straw, and that his overwrought mind was making him hear things. He took a shuddering breath and looked up. The God of the Void floated, cross-legged across the table from him, studying him with gleaming eyes. Khulan swallowed. “Outsider, you’ve grown quite bold if you’re willing to simply appear in public spaces in Dunwall Tower. It seems pointless for you to demand an oath from me to not reveal what I know if you’re planning on exposing them personally.”

            The Outsider chuckled. “The Archivist went for lunch. We’re quite alone. It’s not as though anyone can sneak up on me, little null-priest. I am a god after all.”

            Khulan glared at the god. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

            The Void God shrugged. “It’s what you are. You’re a true priest who’s utterly devoted to the intentional lack of a god. A priest of absence, of refusal, of negation.” The Outsider’s lips quirked into the ghost of a smile. “Philosophically, it’s fascinating. You’re a true priest whose chosen beliefs have functionally made you the opposite of your own nature. Very few Overseers have been **_actual_** priests. Even the zealots amongst you tend to be something more akin to Templars—would-be holy knights who’ve somehow missed that they need an actual deity to claim divine guidance for their actions. In truth, most of the members of your Order worship ideas like hate and fear and control, but not you. No, you truly worship the god-shaped hole in your religion. I suspect this world will never again see your like.”

            Khulan stared at the god blankly. He had no idea how to respond. Whatever answer he’d expected, it wasn’t that. After a moment, the god continued, “I admit that I’ve always wondered why Benjamin Holger didn’t simply make up a god to present as my opposition—some vague, sternly benevolent father figure ordering everyone to behave while watching over his sinful children from some mythical afterlife.” The Outsider arched a dark brow at him. “Many worlds have quite successful religions with rules similar to your Strictures based on that model. It’s easier to keep the faithful in line when they believe that some omniscient presence is always watching them and judging their actions.”

            Khulan gaped at him. “Holger didn’t claim such a thing because it isn’t true!” He gritted his teeth. The very idea of such a belief struck Khulan as absurd. _And what exactly does he mean when he says ‘many worlds’?_ Khulan wondered. 

            The Outsider shrugged again. “So? Many of your other beliefs aren’t true and that hasn’t stopped you.” He cocked his head to the side. “Besides, it’s not entirely untrue. The Void is omniscient and it’s always watching you. It doesn’t understand mortals well enough to judge them, but it ** _is_** always watching.”

            “I’m not going to debate the validity of my beliefs with you,” Khulan growled. “And why are you referring to yourself in the third person?”

            The god gave him a puzzled look before understanding filtered across his features. “You’ve missed a fundamental detail, I’m afraid. I’m not the Void. I’m a God of the Void certainly, but not the Void itself. I see far more than a mortal does, but I’m not omniscient and make no claim to be.”

            Khulan blinked. A chill crawled down his spine along with the bone-deep certainty that this piece of information was of critical importance. “But…the Void isn’t **_aware_**. It’s just a hungering force. It doesn’t think.” His voice sounded weak even to his own ears.

            The Outsider shook his head slowly. “That **_particular_** belief couldn’t be more untrue.”

            Khulan shivered and looked away. Once more he found that he didn’t believe that the Outsider was deceiving him. _The Void is sentient,_ he thought, _and it’s watching._ The thought was frightening on a level he couldn’t quantify. With a deep breath, he shoved his fear to the side and looked up to meet the god’s gaze. “Why are you here? What do you **_want_** from me?”

            The Void God’s features shifted into something more predatory and the smell of ozone poured through the room. “I **_want_** you to deal with your Order so that the Empress can focus on other matters. Emily has an Empire to rebuild; she doesn’t have time to clean your house for you. Further, out of everyone in the Isles, the Abbey is the group most qualified to deal with those who dabble in the most evil and corrupt practices. You’ve seen the true magnitude of the threat. You lead an organization that could be shaped into a force to oppose said threat. I want the Abbey to stop being a menace against the citizenry and become the guardians you pretend you are.”

            The Outsider held out a hand and a void-tendril flicked over his shoulder and placed something into his waiting palm. He held the object up for Khulan’s inspection. It was a necklace, intricately crafted from blacked metal and aged bone into the shape of a human heart. “These were crafted by an order of staggeringly cynical priests on Pandyssia more than two thousand years ago. They believed that men were innately cruel, greedy, violent beasts and that the proper measure of virtue was the ability an individual possessed to deny their instincts and act as agents for good. Goodness, by their definition, was exclusively a set of behaviors, not a state of being or a series of beliefs. They believed that souls began their existence fundamentally damned and had to earn salvation.” The god smirked at him. “It’s ironic really, considering that most of the members of said order were innately good, compassionate people despite their cynicism.”

            The god gestured at the necklace with his free hand. “This allows the one wearing it to see into the hearts of those around him, to sense their intentions. Its magic focuses only on their probable actions. Due to the philosophy of its crafters, someone with evil thoughts who isn’t inclined to actually act on them won’t register as a doer of evil. It tells you what people intend to do, not what fantasies they have. It should help you to separate the wheat from the chaff.” He tossed the necklace at Khulan who caught it on instinct.    

            Khulan stared at the thing, he could feel its potent magic humming through his fingers and settling into his bones. He looked back at the smug god across from him. “I don’t want your void-spawned trinkets, Outsider!” he insisted.

            There was a flash of serrated teeth and menace filled the air like smoke. Khulan had barely registered the god’s movement before he felt the tips of icy, razor-edged claws prickling against his throat. The god’s presence was heavy at his back. Khulan’s heartbeat thundered in his ears as the Outsider’s chill breath tickled the small hairs of his neck. “I don’t care what **_you_** want, little null-priest. Unfortunately for you, regardless of your belief system, you are a true priest on a world that has only **_one_** god. No matter how hard you deny it, at day’s end, you’re **_mine_** and you **_will_** obey me.”

            Khulan trembled as he felt something deep within his soul bow its head in submission. _This can’t be happening,_ he told himself. _I’ve always stood against the Outsider! I’m not his creature!_ His denials were futile. He could hate and he could rage, but he **_knew_** he couldn’t fight this.    

            “I’ve never been one to command the clergy,” the god commented. “I prefer to let things run their course without my intervention. It’s been a very long time since I took a personal interest in the actions of the faithful. Know that I don’t deceive myself about my role in all of this. The Abbey rose to power only because I did nothing to prevent it. I allowed you to grow unchecked because I **_do not_** like to interfere. But time is short and I need to be certain that this situation is moving towards resolution while I’m still able to act. I’ve never required devotion from anyone, but in this one instance I demand cooperation. Do you understand?”

            Khulan couldn’t help but focus on the sharp points pressing against his throat as he swallowed. “I understand,” he said.

            “Good.” With that, the Outsider released him and reappeared across the table. 

            Khulan raised his fingers to his throat, checking the skin for damage. After a moment, he composed himself enough to look up at the god. “What do you mean when you say time is short? That you have to act while you still can?”

            The god’s smile was brittle. “It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with, priest. No one can avoid their fate. Not even me.”   

*****DISHONORED*****

            As it turned out, Emily’s concerns regarding her father’s new companion had been justified. _Completely justified,_ she silently amended while examining the zotl. It was, as she’d feared, disturbingly terrifying. It was a quadruped with a vaguely wolf-like head and a tail. It was obviously a carnivore. That basically covered the complete list of everything it had in common with a hound. The creature was easily three times the size of any hound she’d ever seen and was covered in patterned dark blue and green scales. Six snake-like, unblinking, chartreuse eyes adorned a head that was surrounded by a mane of what could only be called tentacles. It had retractile claws, fangs longer than the width of her palm, and a prehensile tail that terminated in a multi-jointed structure which unnervingly resembled a hand. _Can it manipulate objects with that thing?_ she wondered. They stared silently at each other for a moment before it tasted the air with a blue, forked tongue. Both Emily and the zotl turned to stare at Corvo.

            The Lord Protector offered them both a broad grin. He met the zotl’s eyes and shook his head. “That’s not true,” he told it. “She doesn’t dislike you. It’s just that you’re enormous. It takes getting used to. Give her time to get to know you.” The zotl huffed and looked back at her, uncertainty clear in every line of its form. Her father glared at her over the creature’s head. “Be nice,” he silently mouthed at her.

            Emily swallowed and offered the zotl a shaky smile. “I apologize if I seem unfriendly. I’m just not used to interacting with anything of your size. It’s honestly a bit intimidating.” She glanced back at Corvo, “How are we supposed to address him?”

            Corvo scratched his chin idly as he considered. “Well, his actual name is unpronounceable, so I’ve been calling him Nox. You know, because he’s nocturnal.” Corvo shrugged. “He’s okay with it, so I think I’m just going to keep using that.”

            Emily nodded to her father before turning to look at the zotl. She put on the polite face she’d been using to deal with hostile courtiers for years and gave him a gentle smile. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Nox. I’m certain that I’ll see you soon and I hope that you are comfortable here in the Tower.” She glanced back at Corvo. “I had best get back to my reports. I’ll see you at lunch.” She fled before any more excitement could occur.

`           By the time she made it back to her office, it took all of her will power to not slam her head into her desk. She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. Her father had a fucking pet monster and she had to figure out how to make this acceptable to the people of Dunwall. _Facing Delilah again would be easier,_ she thought. _Let’s just hope that it doesn’t eat people._ She considered Corvo’s descriptions of Nox’s victories against the witches and amended that thought to _‘more people’_. _Let’s hope that it doesn’t eat more people._

            Long, cold fingers brushed against her cheek as a familiar voice said, “It will be easier than you think, my dear Empress. Most of the residents of this city have heard stories from people Nox saved from Delilah’s coven. Many individuals are already inclined to believe that ‘the monstrous hound from the sewers’ is on their side.”

            She turned and met the Outsider’s eyes. “You know, I really hope you’re right about that. What are the chances that Nox will eat one of the servants?”

            The god shook his head. “Nox is very devoted to Corvo. He won’t jeopardize his chance to stay. Zotl are pack animals, but Nox is a runt and didn’t fit in well with any of the local packs. Corvo is his pack now. You don’t have to worry about that.”

            Emily’s eyes went wide. “He’s a runt? Are you serious about that?”

            The Outsider nodded. “Very much so. The local zotl come in two distinct subspecies. One of the subspecies consists of individuals that are only slightly bigger than hounds. They tend to live closer to the surface. The other subspecies consists of larger animals that normally live in the deeper caverns and spend more time underwater. Nox is from the second group, but he’s abnormally small. They would only accept him as a submissive pack member and his temperament won’t allow for that. Unfortunately, he’s far too large to be accepted into a pack of smaller zotl. Befriending Corvo was an easy choice for him.”

            Emily sighed. “Great. Now I feel guilty about cruelly judging my father’s pet monster.”

            The Void God’s lips quirked up into a smile. “I’m not certain that ‘pet’ is the appropriate term to use to describe Nox.”

            Emily shrugged. “Why not? Corvo describes Khulan as my pet Overseer, so it’s fair.”    

            The Outsider just laughed.

*****DISHONORED*****

            It took four days after Delilah’s defeat for the city of Dunwall to once more have regular patrols. Both the City Watch and the Imperial Guard had been crippled during the coup and they honestly didn’t have enough loyal people left to provide any adequate level of peacekeeping. Corvo was just grateful that Khulan and Emily had managed to work out a compromise in spite of her serious issues with the Abbey. The Overseers would, for the foreseeable future, act as additional watchmen. In this role, they acted with the full legal authority city watchmen would have and the Watch was ordered to respect the Abbey’s ranks as they equated to those used by the Watch. In return, the Abbey agreed that they would abide by Imperial law, not religious doctrine when dealing with criminals and that all wrongdoers would be delivered to the proper authorities. Combining forces allowed them to restore some level of law and order, but even working together, they were woefully understaffed.

            Despite her reluctance, Emily had even roped Anton Sokolov into the task of repairing the deactivated Clockwork Soldiers and repurposing them to assist the City Watch. “It’s a terrible idea,” she’d said, “but, frankly, I’m out of good ones.”

            Corvo looked over the reports and sighed. Emily had finally given permission for the High Overseer to order forces from the Abbey at Whitecliff to move to Dunwall, but they wouldn’t likely arrive for nearly a moon and until they did, they were operating with a skeleton crew. As much as Corvo knew that they needed the additional numbers, he didn’t know if them being present would actually be a **_good_** thing.

            Corvo worried about how the soon-to-arrive Overseers would react to the obvious evidence of Outsider worship that could be found across the city. In the days since patrols resumed, the local branch had startled him with their adoption of an odd form of selective blindness regarding heresy. When they encountered an Outsider shrine or other evidence of common worship, they simply acted like they didn’t see it. _It’s a damn good thing too,_ Corvo thought. _New shrines have popped up across Dunwall like mushrooms after an autumn storm. If the Overseers tried to go after them at this point, we’d have riots in the streets._

            At first, Corvo had wondered how Khulan had convinced his men not to make an issue of such things, but he quickly realized that this was **_not_** Khulan’s doing. In fact, Corvo was certain that the Overseers were actively concealing the prevalence of new shrines from their leader. Their actions were bewildering. Corvo allowed his mind to drift, considering all of the odd behavior he’d been seeing as he focused on the rhythmic thrum emitting from Nox’s chest. The zotl’s enormous head rested in Corvo’s lap as Corvo idly scratched his friend’s tentacle-like mane.

            A knock at his door interrupted Corvo’s musings. He barked out: “Enter!”

            The door swung open. Yul Khulan strode into the room before pausing as his eyes fought to adjust to the dim lighting. He stared at the faded tapestries that Corvo had claimed from a forgotten basement storage room and nailed up to block the windows.

            Corvo sighed. He supposed that it was a bit dark in his office. His own, void-enhanced eyes had already adapted to function in the reduced light and Emily hadn’t had any trouble with it, but Khulan lacked their advantages. Unfortunately, the lighting that a normal human would find comfortable was brighter than Nox was happy with. Corvo turned to look at one of the gas lamps placed in his office and focused. He reached out with his marked hand, extending a tendril of power as he called on the Void’s favor. The lamps all flared with void-light, drenching the room in purple-blue radiance. Corvo grinned. Void-light wouldn’t bother Nox, but it was bright enough for Khulan to see clearly. He pushed a burst of gratitude towards the ever-watching Void.

            Corvo glanced back at Khulan, noting the High Overseer’s startled expression and slight trembling. “How can I be of service, Khulan?” Corvo asked.

            “I…” Khulan began before freezing when he spotted the miniature Outsider shrine sitting on a table against the wall. Unlike the larger one that Corvo had built, this one **_was_** a good shrine—elegantly crafted and strangely beautiful despite its diminutive size. Some of the servants had brought it as a present for Nox in thanks for him saving them from Delilah’s witches. After all of his time in the abyss, Corvo found its faint hum of void-song soothing.

            Khulan turned to Corvo with wide eyes. “You’re not even trying to hide it anymore are you?”

            Corvo snorted. “There’s hardly a reason too. Everybody in Dunwall assumes that I’m a heretic at this point. It’s not like there haven’t been plenty rumors since the Rat Plague.” He shrugged. “Em’s put out by it; she thinks that I should be more cautious, but, bluntly, Nox’s presence is all the evidence anyone needs to believe that I’ve got Void-granted powers, so it hardly matters.”

            Khulan stared at the reptilian beast half-curled around Corvo’s chair and sighed. Finally, the High Overseer shrugged. “True enough, I suppose,” he said. “There is really no reasonable way to explain him that doesn’t feature the Void’s touch. Not one that anyone would believe.” With a shake of his head, Khulan laid a stack of papers in front of Corvo and took a seat across from him. “Here’s a copy of the proposed patrol roster for next week. It’s not great, but until I get more men, or Sokolov gets more of those machines up and running, it’s the best I can do without running the men ragged.”

            Corvo nodded and scanned over the proposal. It was honestly better than he’d expected. “It looks good. Any word from Anton on how long it will take?”

            Khulan shook his head. “None that I would repeat in polite company. He basically said that we’d get them when we got them and that the more times I interrupted him, the longer it would take.”

            Corvo barked out a laugh. “Well,” he said, “that certainly sounds like Anton.” He sighed. “If necessary, if things get to be more than we can handle, we can reinstall the Walls of Light at checkpoints. I don’t like the idea of it, but the damn things are effective and Void knows we’ve still got plenty of them.”

            Khulan considered Corvo’s words. “Agreed, but only if there’s no other choice. I’d rather not remind people of those times.”

               Corvo nodded in agreement. Their conversation turned to plans to integrate the Clockwork Soldiers after their repairs and to dealing with problems that might arise when the Whitecliff Overseers arrived.

*****DISHONORED*****

            Days passed and slowly, steadily, Dunwall came back to life. Thousands of citizens that had fled the city during the coup began to trickle back in. For all the damage Delilah’s coup had wrought, the actual death toll was minor amongst the common citizens. These were people who had lived through the Rat Plague, after all. They knew how to lay low, buckle down, and survive.

            High Overseer Yul Khulan looked over the ruined music boxes and sighed. Delilah’s witches had destroyed every last one of the artifacts that had been present in Dunwall upon their arrival. He’d still received no word from the remote monastery where they were crafted regarding his request for more. As much as he hated the thought, he suspected that the craftsmen were all dead. Their destruction might seem like a minor loss when compared to the damage done across the city, but it was crippling to his Order. Unlike the common citizenry, the Abbey had suffered substantial losses and now they had no real defense against dark magics.

            “Hateful things,” an unfortunately now-familiar voice commented from behind him. “I can’t claim to mourn their destruction.”

            Khulan took a deep breath and fought to push down the instinctive terror that filled him with every one of these encounters. Unfortunately, a dozen meetings had done little to lessen the impact that the Outsider’s disturbing presence had on him. Khulan turned, met the Void God’s gaze, and said, “You can’t be here.”

            One corner of the god’s lips curled up into a smirk. He raised one hand and gestured at himself with an elegant flourish. “That statement is clearly untrue.”

            Khulan sighed and pressed his hands to his eyes. He mentally counted backwards from ten and begged the universe to grant him the strength of will to get through this conversation. Finally, he looked back up at the god’s mocking visage. “I meant to say that it would be very much appreciated if you wouldn’t be here. Morale is already at an all-time low and my men will likely panic if you’re seen.”

            The Outsider shrugged. “That is possible, I suppose. It would certainly be an interesting thing to witness. Especially since a good half of your men pray every night that you don’t notice the shrine they put up in the old interrogation cell directly beneath this room.”

            Khulan froze, his eyes wide. “You’re not joking, are you?”

            The god’s smirk grew wider. “I would never joke about such a thing, High Overseer. I’m able to be here only because the shrine is. It’s not as though any of **_you_** bear my mark.” He tilted his head to the right and gazed at Khulan with faux concern painted across his features. “Whatever will you do about such heresy?”

            Khulan glared up at the god. “Not a damn thing and you know it. I have bigger problems to deal with than a hidden shrine.” He ran a hand over his shaved head. “I shouldn’t be surprised, really. Void knows that our beliefs did nothing against the black magic Delilah’s coven wielded. I suppose they’ve turned to you for protection against such things?” He looked at the god for confirmation and received a nod in reply.

            Khulan sighed. “With the music boxes destroyed, we have no effective defense against that sort of power and I **_know_** that some of the witches escaped.”

            The smirk dropped from the Outsider’s pale face. He gave a single, sharp inclination of his head. “That they did,” he hissed. His onyx gaze fell upon the shattered music boxes. His head cocked to one side, his face contemplative as he studied them. Finally, the Outsider waved a hand over the broken remains of what were once the Abbey’s most prized artifacts. Khulan felt the Void God’s terrible power surge through the room before watching, mesmerized, as they began to reassemble themselves. Void-energy hummed in the air around them. Khulan gaped. He turned back to face the Outsider with questioning eyes.

            The god’s face held no expression. “Make no mistake, priest. They are not what they once were. I have no interest in aiding the Abbey’s persecution of my worshipers. These new music boxes will not be effective against common magics.” A predatory smile slipped across his face and his onyx eyes glittered. “However, they will prove **_most_** effective against those who practice the darker, corrupted magics. More than I think you can imagine. I’ve given you back your defense. Never let it be said that I’m not generous.” With those words, the Void God vanished in a burst of ebon shards.

            Khulan was still staring at the restored devices half an hour later when Senior Overseer Reynolds found him. “I apologize for the intrusion, High Overseer, but…” Reynolds stilled as his gaze landed on the artifacts. For a time, he just stared at them. Finally, he asked, “How?” He looked down at Khulan with wide eyes.

            Reynolds was a quiet and conservative member of the Order. He’d never acted in a manner that would have brought even a flicker of suspicion his way. Khulan studied him, considering. The carved bone heart hidden beneath his robes told him that Reynolds’s greatest motivation was to find a way to stop people like Delilah’s coven. The man didn’t care what was required, so long as the Overseers found a solution. “Reynolds, were you aware of the fact that the Outsider can physically manifest within a certain distance of one of his shrines?”

            Reynolds blinked and his shoulders tightened. Nervous energy poured off of him in waves. “No? I mean…I’ve heard the old legends of course, but surely those are nonsense.” He wrung his hands together. “Why do you ask, sir?”  

            “Well,” Khulan stated, “if there were an Outsider shrine built…say in an old interrogation room directly beneath us, the Outsider himself would be able to appear in this room any time he wanted. He might come by, offer a few mocking words, and magically fix our music boxes but make it so that they only work against black magic.”

            Reynolds shrunk in on himself, trying to appear as small as possible. It was, Khulan thought, an impressive attempt for a man of his size. “Why would the Outsider do that?” he whispered.

            Khulan’s face revealed nothing to his subordinate. “Well, he probably did it because of how many of you have been praying to him for protection every night and because he absolutely **_loves_** to screw with me.” When Reynold’s tried to interject, Khulan cut him off. “Tell me, Reynolds, if I were to search you right now, how many bonecharms would I find? And if I were to go check the hidden storage rooms, how many of the bonecharms and runes that should be there awaiting destruction still are?”

            Reynolds swallowed. “What are you going to do to us?”

            Khulan shook his head. His laugh was bitter. “Nothing. I can’t afford to do anything. If I even acknowledge it, I’ll have to excommunicate half of the Overseers left in Dunwall and I won’t have enough men left in the city to run the patrols or operate these void-spawned music boxes.”

            Reynolds blinked and straightened slightly. “You’ll let us keep them?” he asked hopefully.

            Khulan sighed. “Considering that they’re the only defense we have against black magic and that we have no idea how many of Delilah’s followers survived? Yes. Yes, we are going to keep them. I’m putting you in charge of informing the men that we have them and of distributing them to the patrol groups. I want them out with the patrols by this evening.” With those words, he headed out the door.

            “Sir?” Reynolds asked. “About the shrine…”

            Khulan glanced over his shoulder at his subordinate. “I’m far too busy to deal with any such rumors and will **_never_** be entering that particular room. As far as I’m concerned, it does not, and will never, exist. That said, if any of you gets any clever ideas about making further additions to our headquarters, just know that the day the Outsider appears in my personal quarters to mock the utter failure of my life’s work while I’m in the bath is the day I make you all pay. Who knows? I may even pull out the Heretic’s Brand.”    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! Kind or critical, comments really motivate me to keep writing. I’m always happy to know what my readers want to see more (or less) of in my work.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who left comments or kudos! I adore each and every one of you. It means more than you know.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! Kind or critical, comments really motivate me to keep writing. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Special thanks to my lovely beta, CaptainXeno!


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